


Shadows of Before

by Vampykitty_kun



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate responce to Battle for the Cowl, Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dick doesn't understand, Dysfunctional Family, Guns, M/M, Major Character Injury, Not quite sure if Bruce is dead, Pre-Red Robin Deviation, Suicide Attempt, Tim isn't crazy, self-neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampykitty_kun/pseuds/Vampykitty_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim, following the 'Death' of Batman, finds himself unable to cope with the sudden loss of yet another of his loved ones. Believing that Bruce will return only manages to unnerve a grieving Dick, who honestly thinks Tim might be cracking under the onslaught of tragedy. Fearing being sent away, Tim sets off on his own, and quickly learns just how much he had come to rely on his Robin persona and the family he had gained from the position. Jason hadn't been able to save himself, yet here he was trying to give a broken bird back his wings. At the same time, Tim may very well be slowly piecing HIM together once more. Harley was far from being a hero, having long since lost herself to her own madness, but perhaps by saving someone from a similar fate she could salvage herself. Once upon a time she had wanted nothing more than to help others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Reboot. 
> 
> A 'what-if' scenario, a pre-Red Robin AU I suppose. 'New 52' events will be completely ignored. Some events between BFTC and the reboot will still occur, but this fic will primarily be deviation. 
> 
> For purposes of this fic, Stephanie never returned, and both Bart and Conner will stay dead. The fate of Bruce in this fic is to be determined at a later time.
> 
> Story contains M/M, M/F, F/F pairings. If that's not up your alley, turn the bike around and up the throttle.
> 
> This fic is angst ridden in the beginning, but does gradually perk up.
> 
> Feedback is loved and appreciated!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Thunder cracked in the distance and the sky lit up with glittering sparks as the rain steadily fell in sheets upon the city. The sirens blared, echoing through the darkness, forever the constant wailing tune of Gotham. Really, it was a night typical in the broken city.

He drew in a sharp ragged breath, and released it shakily, watching as his breath frosted in the chilly air.

Civilians flitted through the streets below as the business men and women scuttled to the safety of their cars or taxis to return to their homes for the night. Likewise, those who were unfortunate enough to not have a ride on this dreary night ran with their jackets over their heads or umbrellas held high. As always, in a city with such a dark underworld as Gotham, not even the rain could wash away the filth. Slowly but surely, the night life sprang into action. He watched as women, scantily clad, congregated together on the street corners below. They huddled together for warmth, in effort to not catch their deaths in the low temperature of this stormy night. The rata-tat-tat of an automatic firearm sounded in the distance, followed by a vehicle veering off the road. He watched as a streetlight four streets down flickered with resistance before burning out altogether and crashing to the ground. Atop the building he stood upon, he watched with tired eyes as a drug deal went down with no hesitation, no interruption, even as a GCPD squad car rolled past. On any normal night, he would be right in the middle of the nighttime chaos. He would be rushing in praying for survivors in the drive by wreck. He would be urging the women indoors, offering them safety at a shelter. He would be wrangling up the dealers and confiscating their goods to keep it off the streets.

But not tonight.

 _Not now_.

He sunk to the ground, braced against the stairwell door atop the eight story hotel building, drawing his knees up to his chest. His heart raced, throat clenching, as he buried his face in his soaked denim clad knees. His breath quickened and he clenched his arms tightly as he willed his nerve to return. He was cold. Freezing. Dressed in nothing but a hooded sweatshirt, t-shirt, and jeans. Civilian attire. Nothing to keep the rain off his skin or the heat within his body trapped beneath the threads.

He could not go back.

He would _not_ go back.

He had officially hit an all-time low. He had lost everything, seemingly all at once. A father- _twice_ … Stephanie… Bart… Conner… and now his home, his family, and his **_life_**.

His _brother_ – he hissed at the thought – had taken away the last shred of hope he had. Taken away the only thing he had left, the only thing holding him together amidst the chaos that had erupted without fail time after time around him. He had taken away the only thing that reminded him that everything had all been real. That _they_ had been real.

The thunder crashed directly above, causing him to flinch, and wrap his arms even more tightly around himself. The rain showed no signs of letting up, at least not for several hours, and the chill was becoming unbearable. He blinked lazily as he glanced out at the city once more.

He regretted it instantly.

The hurt and yearning hit him just as hard as the car had hit the light post earlier. The Bat-signal glowed bright against the night sky and rain clouds. Surely _they_ would come soaring through the night in the next few moments with hopes of preventing whatever disaster that the Commissioner had been presented with. A whine reached his throat, and he clenched at it to stop it from escaping. He dug his nails in, urging the pain to become a distraction.

He did not want to see _them_.

He did not want to see Dick. Did not want to see the 'brother' that had discarded him after everything. Did not want to see the man that replaced him without a second glance. Replaced him with a child more lethal than most of Gotham's worst. Replaced him with the boy that had made an attempt on his life because he was not 'worthy' of being Bruce's son… of being _Robin_ … He surely did not want to see the smug satisfied smirk upon the boy's face at having won, and of course, he did not want to face the consequences of being _found_.

He pulled himself up from his heap upon the ground, clothes heavy, wet, and clinging to his body as he pressed himself against the door. He fumbled with the lock briefly before the door made a soft click, and he wrenched it open, feeling the rush of warmth course across his face. The door snapped shut behind him with a dull thud, and he shivered as the heat made a small effort to ease the shock of cold wet cloth clinging heavily to his skin. He trudged across the tacky carpet the hall had to offer, settling himself in a far corner, with hopes that he would be shielded from prying eyes at least until morning. He had no urge to be caught sneaking a free night in the shelter of the hotel, away from the bone chilling storm, and he hoped that the rain brought the night guard other worries that would keep him away from the top floor. At least for now.

Sleep would not come. This he knew. But here he would be warm. Safe from outside world, hidden from view, and shielded from the sight of the bat lighting up the dreary night sky.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters of this story are admittedly not very eventful, and very Tim-centric. They put the story in motion, and gradually give the back story leading up to current events. I couldn't say for sure just how many chapters this story will be, but I think I'm in it for the long run, so bear with me This is the first time in a long time that I'm excited about a story, and going into it already have most of it plotted out.
> 
> I hope those of you who are reading enjoy the story.
> 
> This story is not edited by anyone other than me. I rewrite parts several times, at times reorganize parts, and re-read things every few paragraphs. Hopefully mistakes are at a minimum as I do try to be careful, so I apologize for any issues.
> 
> Chapters start getting pretty long at chapter 3 on out, 2-3 times the length of these first 2 chapters.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He woke at the slamming of a door.

Tim pried his cheek from his damp jeans and willed his eyes to open. Briefly, he wondered where he was, heart rate escalating in panic as he struggled to recognize his surroundings and let his brain reboot. He ran through pre-slumber events in his foggy mind. Rain, roof, _Batman_ , hotel, hallway...

He shivered with recognition and understanding as he waited for the sounds of life down the hall to die down and dissipate completely. He slipped his hand down into a pocket, pulling out an equally damp wallet, and silently took inventory of the contents. Twenty three dollars, forty five cents, debit card, state identification, library card. Considering that he had not planned this abrupt excursion he was off to an acceptable start. He would have to gain access to a computer, transfer funds, and cover his tracks once completed. Twenty three dollars and forty five cents would not last him long, and he could _not_ afford to have Dick nor Babs tracking his every move with each swipe of his bank card. He would not give the man the pleasure of shadowing him. Tim could hide forever if he chose to. But Dick would not be searching yet. No, he was too forgiving, too _trusting_. He would let Tim disappear and calm down… recollect his thoughts. By the time the man realized that he would not be returning to the manor, any minute trace of him, any trail, would be cold.

He felt a pang in his chest for Alfred, who would be left to pick up the pieces, whom he had left without a good bye. He had restrained himself from seeking the man out. Alfred would have _known_ , for Alfred always knew, and although Tim was confident that the man would not have tried to restrain him, he knew his resolve would have crumbled simply by looking into the man's sad eyes.

When he had made up his mind about leaving, he knew that nothing short of a quick severing of ties would do. Dick would have tried to stop him, by any means. He had already been desperate to help him, have him _confined_ , and placed in a facility he surely would not have made it back out of without a fight and cunning plan. Alfred would plead silently with his eyes, guilting him into submission. Damian would have quite possibly been so unbearably smug and superior about the entire situation that he would have stayed and suffered through it all just to crush the boy's strong sense of victory. Either that or they would have fought until one or the other lay motionless crumpled on the Manor floors… He knew his limits, and his resolve would have crumbled, despite the strong feeling of imprisonment and betrayal the manor now held for him. Every inch of that house sparked painful memories. It was like the manor itself had become a tomb, and he hadn't been able to shake himself free of the feeling of death and dread in the air. The private 'funeral' had not helped, nor the events that had followed, and he simply could not understand why Dick could not accept that he was just not coping with Bruce’s _absence_ very well, something that should be expected, and let him be.

He had taken none of his personal effects, except the clothes on his back and his wallet. He had not had the time to plan ahead, think things through enough to break away with more. At the very least, with nearly all of his treasured possessions left behind in his room, they would suspect nothing.

He staggered to his feet slowly, bracing himself against the wall, and padded over to the nearest window with his limbs still half asleep. Relief washed over him as he leaned against the sill and stared out the tempered glass at awakened city below, and he slumped against the frame. It was daytime, early he supposed, and the rain had ceased falling. With a soft sigh, he made his way through the halls, and down the levels, stopping only when he reached the self-service laundry room provided for the hotel guests. He had stayed in the very same building once several years back with his father.

Familiar territory at least.

The room was vacant, and after checking it for cameras and finding none, he immediately pried the cold damp clothes from his body, piled a guest's forgotten clothes from within the dryer atop it, and chucked his own into the machine. He rummaged through the clothes, still vaguely warm from their earlier tumble, and held a pair of thick jeans up to his nude form. They ran small but given the situation they would do. Not chancing being discovered in the buff by staff, he slipped them on, shivering as the warm encased his chilled legs, and he tucked away his wallet. Tim leaned against the dryer as it rocked on its legs, relishing in the small amount of heat it put off, and the steady clunk and putter the contents within made. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He could get through this. He only had to keep telling himself as such...

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The 'funeral' had been a mess. The League had attended alongside select friends of the Bat-clan. It was a service for _Batman_ , Bruce Wayne was still alive as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and it was to stay that way. It was the only time Tim had been able to recall having so many people visiting in the cave at once. Bruce simply would not have allowed it. The service was long, heartfelt, and to Tim it had felt as though the purpose of the whole event was to smother him. He had attended far too many funerals as of late, but at least they had made _sense_.

This one was inane. Dick was being foolish…

Tim watched the service drone on with severe disinterest, simply staring blankly, fiddling with his cuff as the minutes passed. No one moved to comfort him, no one spoke to him, and he was content with this.

Dick looked pained, and tired, and as things were coming to a close he had begun to cry silently. Damian looked... _distraught_. The boy was pale, shadows lay beneath his eyes, and his aura of superiority had diminished. Alfred simply looked sick. The League fared no better it seemed, even Superman had tears in his eyes. It was funny really, as far as he was concerned... such an outburst of emotion for something so unnecessary, and he really had not been able to understand why he was the only one who seemed to think so.

Tim had not even realized he was laughing until all eyes gradually turned towards him, and then that only made him laugh harder, painfully. He clutched at his sides, willing the giggles to die down. He could not understand why no one else thought this scene morbidly hilarious. Dick's terrified stare was mimicked by several members of the League, before unanimously they decided the service was over, and they made a hasty retreat. Damian had looked ready to kill him for his outburst, his inner spark seemingly resurfacing. Superman made an attempt to approach him, but Tim had seen him coming, and had bolted to Alfred's side at the front of the cave for protection, muffling the last of his twitters. The last thing he needed was for the man to attempt to console him. He did not want to see those bright blue eyes shining with concern and sympathy. Eyes that were perfect replicas of Conner's. He had been doing enough grieving, enough pining for those he had lost, and reopening that wound was not somewhere he had wished to go. As is, he still dreamt of them, of Kon each and every night regardless of wants.

After the League departed, Alfred fell back on habits, and had gone upstairs to make a pot of tea, anticipating the stressful confrontations on the horizon. Tim sat in the large plush chair in front of the monitors, feeling Dick's stare bore into him, all the while making an attempt at being productive. The man fidgeted with his tie and cuffs nervously behind him and Tim had resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When Alfred returned with tray of tea and cups in hand, Dick seemingly regained his nerve and approached him, a look of determination gracing his weary face.

If he could have escaped right then he would have.

"Tim? Are you… _alright_?" He started off softly, reaching to run a hand through the younger man's hair.

Tim flinched at the contact and shifted away awkwardly.

"When are we ever alright?" He snorted, gripping at his pant leg. He wished he could have begun laughing again but the moment had passed.

"You know what I meant Kiddo." Dick sighed, shaking his head. "You scared us tonight Tim. You were so detached… and you _laughed_. You laughed at a funeral. _His_ funeral. Why?"

Tim stared at him curiously. His brother seemed desperate. He could see the pleading in his eyes, the worry, and a few chuckles bubbled up from his chest once more.

"Because this arrangement is a joke. It's ridiculous, _pointless_." Dick had looked at him like he had grown a second head. Alfred had just watched nervously as he poured them each a cup of tea.

"What- what do you mean?" Dick had seemed hesitant to ask, but Tim had been more than happy to get his point across.  
 _  
_"Because, he'll be back. Bruce will be back." And Alfred tipped a cup over at that exclamation, shooting Dick a rather concerned, worried frown whilst Damian had simply looked intrigued. "So there was no point to tonight. He'll be back. He's Batman. He's just… _lost_ right now." Tim, shrugged, and stood from the chair, passing everyone as he made his way towards the stairs.

He had left the cave before Dick could argue with him, returned to his room, and hit the sheets without a second thought.

He feigned sleep when Dick had entered the room a mere twenty minutes later.

The days that followed the 'funeral had been no better.

Tim found that sleeping was hardly an option. The Bat-clan was no stranger to nightmares. But things had become ridiculous...

If Tim was not watching his friends die, he was watching his family die, over and over again. He would wake up screaming, cold, yet sweating. If death was not on a given night’s cruel schedule, he was with Conner, or Steph… sometimes even Bart, and when he woke? He was so distraught that it had not been real that he found himself in hysterics and unable to breath.

He never dreamt of Bruce.

Bruce was coming back.

He was sure of it…

Sleep had come in short spurts now, and only when he was too tired, too drained to hold off any longer.

Dick had refused to see reason, Alfred seemed to always have eyes on him, and Damian was convinced that Tim had lost his mind and took up carting around his katana unsheathed with him at _all_ times, less Tim make an attempt on their lives. The child had openly told him this with a smug look upon his face much to Dick’s horror.

After a few days, he had simply dropped the subject of Bruce's eventual, inevitable return. He knew when enough was enough, and Dick had become so increasingly unnerved that Tim feared he had been ready to take serious action and seek assistance with him from outside the manor. He never brought the subject up again and neither did Dick. But that had not meant Tim believed his statement any less.

Outside, Gotham was a raging mess. The villains and criminals noticed the absence. It went on too long for them not to. They _knew_ … and they were celebrating. Soon they would have a serious problem on their hands if Bruce did not return in a timely manner.

Gotham needed its Batman.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim had left the hotel immediately after the dryer buzzed, snapping him awake from his half sleep pressed against the warm dryer, and he had managed to pull the steaming clothes over his head. He felt poorly about pilfering the pair of jeans, but as things stood, he could use the second pair of pants. He would not go back to the hotel again, not even if he was drenched once more, so the extra set of bottoms would have to hold him off for a while. He could not afford to form habits so soon after his departure.

He hit the Gotham Public Library next. He pushed through the rotating doors, hood pulled up over his head, not wanting to risk anyone he knew as Tim, _or Robin_ , recognizing him. He checked out a laptop from the front desk and found a quiet secluded corner at the center of the second floor, free from prying eyes, human and digital. It was a simple process with his knowledge. In no time at all he had established an alternate bank account with First National Bank of Gotham, under his Alvin Draper alias, and had wired a substantial portion of his savings into it. The transfer would not show up in bank records, and the delay he arranged would show the funds disappearing from his account at a later date. This bought him valuable time. When Dick finally became aware of the mass withdrawal from his account, he would have already missed him by several days.

Tim wiped the laptop's history thoroughly before returning it to the front desk and heading straight out the door.

He would have to retrieve his alternate identity's identification and paperwork from the local gym locker he had stashed it in weeks ago before moving further. It was moments such as these that he was glad he had the foresight to store a few things outside of the manor without reason in the past…


	3. Chapter 3

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The planned pickup had only taken a few moments to go down. Again, he had walked into the building with his hood up, just in case. He made his way to the locker, unfastened the lock, and stuffed the contents into his hoodie pocket. He did not replace the lock and pocketed it as well before leaving the premises.

First National Bank of Gotham was only located four streets away from the gym. Hood was left down for this visit so he would not draw attention to himself with security. The clerks were skeptical about closing the account after seeing the current balance, but thirty minutes and two managers later, he was walking out the doors with a shiny new briefcase in tow. They had not been able to find a mistake with his identification nor his account of course. He was flawless with his work. He had been smart and had made the 'alternate' account a student savings. It made the mass withdrawal more plausible.

Tim turned into an alley stripping off his hoodie as he went. He popped the case open just enough to empty his pockets, then sealed it back up tight, wrapping it within the discarded garment. It _was_ Gotham after all, and even in the daylight the case made him a prime target. He was thankful that he did not plan to go far.

Choosing a place to crash on a temporary basis had been a difficult decision, one where a plethora of factors had needed to be considered. A permanent residence of his own would take time and plenty of careful planning. It was in reluctance that he need house himself in an already established location. Choosing the perfect safe house from their abundance of locations was anything but easy, knowing that he must choose one unmonitored by Oracle, one off of Batman’s _main_ patrol route, one that could potentially house supplies of sort (as once chosen, he could not risk visiting a second), yet one that had been inactive and out of use entirely for some time. A forgotten hideaway of sorts. One that was secretive, without windows, and set out of the way so he could lay low for a time undetected.

He had decided on a safe house east of the bank. It was one Dick had established a few years back, when Nightwing was based in Blüdhaven, as a place to sleep and restock supplies when passing through Gotham, rather than returning to the Manor. It had not been used in well over a year, as there were safe houses all throughout Gotham, far closer to the problem areas. There was no telling what supplies still lingered in the location, but anything would be better than flitting through Gotham unequipped and without body armor, and there was no sense in stocking up on his own supplies and tech. before he was settled in his own home base. It would be difficult to travel with bulk. He doubted that he would still be using it as a home base by the time Dick began his search for him, but it would most definitely work as a temporary flop for the time being, and it was the perfect place to store his funds tucked away out of sight. He was all about cleanliness as of late, and by the time he abandoned the location it would be as though he were never there, so long as he dumped the trash on his way out off site. The particular safe house he had selected was older, and would only alert the cave and Oracle if a break-in was attempted, not when entered under standard procedure. No record of his entry would be kept.

The safe house was located in the basement of a local packaging company. The entrance hidden behind a false wall in the back of the storage warehouse. He easily avoided being seen as he slipped in, for a warehouse such as this one had little need for security having no product of any value. The reinforced steel door behind the false wall was added safety, passcode protected, of which he knew the numbers for. They _all_ did, standard information within their close knit group. The door sealed shut automatically as he started down the stairs, hiding the fact that the wall had opened up or that anyone had been there at all.

It was pitch black as he inched down the stairwell, feeling the side walls as he went. The hall echoed the sound of his sneakers clunking dully against the steel steps. A door matching the first met him at the end, and again, he entered the proper key code. A sigh of relief escaped Tim's lips as the door popped open, and he stepped within, turning the lights on as he crossed the open floor. The fluorescent glow lit the enclosure brightly, and he was pleased to see that Dick had left the place tidy last he had sought shelter there, unlike the man’s apartments. It was a simple open area shelter, forty by sixty feet. High ceiling, cement floors. Shower area mapped off in the far corner by curtains, drain in the floor. Stall toilet standing a few feet to the left. Pull out couch against the center wall, and an industrial sewing machine to the left of it, mostly used for patch jobs. A mini fridge with microwave seated on top sat off to the side. The center of the space had black padded floors, no doubt installed specifically for acrobatic purposes.

Typical Dick…

A space heater and shop fan occupied the space against the far right wall, to manage the room temperature during extreme seasons, and of course a plethora of cabinetry and counter space littered the remaining wall space.

It wasn't much, but it was all he would need for now.

Tim was pleased to find that supplies were not particularly limited. Despite having been vacant for at least the last year, Dick had evidently left it well stocked last he had used it. Granted, everything was very much Nightwing's, but Tim could handle wingdings just as well as batarangs. The stock of escrima sticks on the other hand he would not touch. He _refused_ to be another Nightwing, and he would either be forced to acquire a new quality staff, construct one, or rely solely on hand to hand combat for close range attacks. There was an abundance of medical supplies at the very least, and between all of the damaged or retired costumes in disarray within the cabinets, he was sure he could piece together something that would suit _him_ just fine. He would always be a Robin, regardless of what anyone else wanted, even if he was not _the_ Robin…

Electronics would have to wait until he had a place to call his own, as he would have to be prepared to leave the shelter at a second's notice. It was shame, but he would have to make due without it.

Tim had honestly thought about leaving Gotham all together… He really had. But after all of the chaos he had been through over the years, especially the earthquake and Gotham's period of 'No Man's Land', he was attached. The city was his _home_. Yes, he would run into Dick and Damian eventually, but so be it. Dick could not take the city away like he had with Robin. By the time he was confronted they would have no hold on him any longer.

Vaguely Tim was aware that he had not eaten in the last twenty-four hours, but he was in no mood to leave the protection that the safe-house held so soon to acquire groceries. If he got hungry enough, he was sure Dick had left some non-perishables somewhere in the kitchen area. Pushing hunger aside, he began laying out what materials he had to work with and began sketching out ideas for his new identity. His choices were limited, as Dick mostly had a passion for blue over the years, stepping out in shades of gold or red on a limited basis, and detailed planning was necessary. His suit would have to primarily be black, if he hoped to have enough material. Much of what lingered was damaged suits from recent years.

With a sigh, he joined his project on the matted floor.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick groaned and pressed his face into the pillow as he gripped the sheet beneath him. Alfred tutted behind him, sinking the needle into the man's flesh once more, weaving through and stitching.

"Perhaps if the young master was getting a substantial amount of bed rest, he would be far more alert and not return home with a wound that leads me to wonder if his opponent had been trying to fillet him." The man huffed as he put in the last few stitches, sealing Dick's shoulder wound.

The man gave a whine and pulled his lips into a pout. Alfred was secretly pleased that the cowl had been discarded prior to patching the man up for such a look appearing on Batman's face would be satirical.

"I get as much sleep as I can…" He sighed.

Alfred did not look convinced, but did not comment any further.

Damian snorted as he tossed himself into the chair beside the man.

"I assure you that Grayson's problems do not lay with his bed rest. He is letting his mind wander elsewhere during battle, which is leading him to make imprudent mistakes, ending in otherwise avoidable injuries." The boy glared down at his mentor who barely suppressed his flinch.

"I can't help but be worried! Tim has never gone out without telling anyone he was leaving, let alone leave and not come back at all, neglect to call… No note left, and with the way he's been acting, who knows what he's up to? This was _really_ bad timing…” he frowned, shaking his head. “If that's not a cause for worry, then what is kiddo?"

Damian merely rolled his eyes.

" _Tt_ … Drake has made his choices. He has evacuated the premises and given me the privacy I demanded and deserve. I see no cause for complaint. If he wishes to abandon his lesser position after I've usurped the Robin mantle from him, _rightfully_ , that is his decision to make not yours."

" _Damian_ -"

"Besides, Drake is clearly not of his right mind and has no business being a part of this arrangement anyhow, you said so yourself. Really he has done us all a great favor by retreating without us forcing the matter." The boy crossed his arms and snuggled into the back of the chair, a content smirk upon his face.

Dick only intensified and he shook his head, sitting up, rolling his injured shoulder gently.

"I _never_ said that, not like that. All I said was for him to take some time to think about what he wanted, some time to gather his thoughts and recover from recent events. Perhaps seek some _help_. Lord knows he's lost so much, more than the rest of us, and in such a small amount of time. That would shake anyone up. I would have never chased him away from the manor." He sighed, stripping the remainder of the batsuit from his aching form. "I get that he might need some space, that it might seem as though we've been smothering him, that I've betrayed him, but I'm trying to do what's best for him. Running off isn't doing him any good. He needs… someone to talk to, someone that _isn’t_ me, or Alfred, and definitely not you when you can’t seem to be civil with him. I know he'll be back in a few days, sooner with any luck, but that doesn't stop me from being worried. He's unarmed, with no radio, or tracers. If he gets into trouble I have no way of swooping in to save him. It's… _unnerving_. I don't like not knowing. I do not want to lose him too, and with the destructive path he's been on the last few weeks, I'm unsure of how to handle him and make things right." He muttered, watching as the boy rolled his eyes.

"Whatever Grayson."

In interest of ending the conversation in a quick and tidy manner, Alfred cleared his throat loudly, bringing attention to himself.

"Would you two perhaps be interested in eating something before retiring to your beds? I happen to know that there is lobster bisque and grilled cheese sandwiches calling your names upstairs. I imagine that a few moments in the broiler will make do with the sandwiches, and reheating the bisque is no bother… Ought to only take a few moments" Alfred rose a curious brow at the boys.

Dick grinned, and bolted for the stairs before Damian even had a chance to leave his seat, causing the boy to scream angrily at him as he dove up the stairs after him.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred started after them.

Truth be told, he was just as worried as Dick, if not more…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim did not have a watch on him, nor did he have access to a window to determine what time of day it was. He had been at work for several hours now, hacking away at the kevlar and spandex Nightwing remnants and piecing them back together, with no end in clear sight. He had taken a break earlier to rummage through the 'kitchen' area for something of sustenance, settling on a granola bar and bottled water, but upon finishing the small snack he had gone straight back to his work. The kevlar was tricky to cut, and the layers were a pain to stitch together. Everything had to be cut down, for Dick was a good deal bulkier than Tim, and taller, even in his early years. A suit was useless if not tailored specifically for the wearer, or the seams were less than perfect, and he was not willing to take any chances. It would be his life on the line with no one to come to his recue or patch him up.

After another hour of trimming and stitching, Tim decided to give it a rest for the night. Fabric scraps were gathered and thrown in the waste bin. Kevlar remnants thrown in a bag. Suit pieces that had not fallen victim to the teen were returned to the cabinet from which they came. Each and every pin was accounted for and returned to its box, and the shears were returned to their proper drawer. The suit was far from completion, but he was off to a great start. He fought back a yawn and stripped away his clothes, folding each piece before he set them in a small pile on the counter. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and sauntered over to the showering area, praying for heated water. To his dismay, the showerhead kick started with a ragged noise, and then shot out cold rust tinted water. He rocked back on his heels to avoid the spray, and leaned against the cement wall, shuddering at the chill that assaulted his bare flesh. He held out for a few minutes, but the only difference the wait made was in the color of the water which now ran clear. The temperature was just as low as before as he forced himself under the freezing spray of water. He washed quickly, quivering as he scrubbed, the temperature causing his skin to tense and bump up. By the time he was finished, his fingers were numb, but at least he felt clean.

He wrapped himself in some thick towels before pulling back the curtains and racing towards the heater. He pulled it towards the couch and set the thermostat to eighty before retrieving his clothes and bundling himself back up. A cold shower was never pleasant, and it left him missing the large comforting bathrooms back at the manor, where the water was always the perfect temperature, and he had a warm bed to crawl into afterwards.

Tim flipped the light switch, surrounding himself in darkness, and made his way back across the enclosure towards the couch. He was glad that besides the floor mat, the center of the safe house was bare of all furniture, so he had nothing to trip over. He located a few blankets underneath the couch, and he threw them over himself as curled into the cushions, not bothering to pull out the bed. He balled one of them up and used it as a pillow of sorts, burying his face into it with a sigh. The blankets, despite however long they had been laying under the safe house couch, still smelled like the manor and Alfred's choice of detergent. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and drew in a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the warmth spilling back into his body courtesy of the heater.

His throat clenched tightly, against his will, and he bit back the sob that threatened to escape it.

It was going to be a long, fitful night.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two weeks from the day of the funeral, the residents of Wayne Manor were in no better of a state. It had not taken long for the scum of Gotham to realize that Batman was not coming for them. As the days rolled on, more and more chaos erupted in the streets. It was getting to the point that crime was starting to spill into the streets in broad daylight. Dick was exhausted, lucky to get three hours of sleep each night if possible. He had returned to patrol just seventy-two hours after the funeral. Gotham had not been able to wait any longer. It had taken Tim an additional two days before had been able to pull himself out of bed with enough energy and will to go out as Robin. Damian was a raging beast because he had been forbidden from assisting their efforts by Dick who genuinely feared for his safety. That did not stop the boy from making attempts at sneaking out though, not at all. Dick had been forced to sedate him on more than one occasion.

Dick was fighting with more vigor and determination than ever. He had… _changed_. He was no longer happy and carefree outside of costume. The stress and worry was ruling him, and Gotham was not shaping up even with their combined efforts. Without Batman the city was in shambles. The citizens no longer feared Nightwing and Robin, if they ever really had. In a moment of weakness, Tim had suggested that Dick go out as Batman, even if just for one night, to restore order. He had regretted it instantly upon seeing the man's pained expression. Dick declined quite verbally, and seemed shaken the rest of the evening. Perhaps it was all for the best. After all, Tim hardly wanted to see Dick in the suit, pretending to be something he wasn't, and never would be.

Tim himself was in a similar state of distress. He found himself unable to concentrate on patrol. He made foolish rookie mistakes that often caused Dick and himself more pain and suffering than need be, and Dick was far from blind. Nightwing began watching his every move, in _and_ out of costume, and Tim did not like the extra attention, not one bit. It only unnerved him further. He began hiding in his room when home, locked behind the oak door, away from prying eyes. Meals were eaten in silence, with the only occasional chit chat coming from Dick and Damian, and the occasional words of wisdom from Alfred.

Things only got worse as time grew on.

One night of patrol went particularly bad. Tim's screw up allowed their target to escape custody before ending up in Gordon’s hands and back in Arkham. He was ashamed of it enough as is when Dick had chosen to lay into him. He had not taken it well, and the confrontation had ended in a violent brawl that only stopped when Damian interrupted it. Alfred had sent the boy after them upon hearing the situation over the com links. To make matters worse, the boy was overly smug about the whole situation, and because he could, proceeded to place blame on him for the entire night's disruption.

What made things worse was that Damian was not at all wrong…

From then on out, Tim stopped eating dinner with the family, and much to Alfred's dismay, began to eat within the confines of his room. He avoided Damian like the plague, and only tolerated Dick during patrol. His only source of socialization became Alfred. He felt like he was being smothered in his own home. But it was better to stay away while he was feeling particularly unstable then to snap back and continue to disappoint the older men.

Then, the Arkham breakout occurred, inmates being freed by who appeared to be Black Mask in a transport gone wrong. Riots began. Big name criminals walked down the streets in broad daylight. Try as they might, they could _not_ restore order.

Things became so unbearable, that Dick called in all of their reinforcements. Friends and former teammates flocked to the city. In no time at all a vigilante could be spotted left and right. It was counterproductive. It made patrol all the more difficult. People began to butt heads. New alliances were formed, and old ones shattered. Stress levels skyrocketed.

And just like that, it all changed…

Suddenly, criminals began to turn up dead all throughout Gotham. Bodies were found lying in alleys, strung up on fire escapes, even splayed across parked GCPD squad cars. Those lucky enough to survive spoke of the Batman disrupting their plans and devastating their numbers. At first, they thought it was simply fear toxin bring old fears to the surface, as tox screens showed the gas in their systems, but all too soon things came to light. The notes started appearing with the bodies.

_'I AM BATMAN'_

Although Dick remained oblivious to the extremity of the situation, it had taken Tim no time at all to realize what was going on, who was responsible, and _why_.

Only one person could be behind it all. Only one man would be plowing through Gotham, using Batman's name, using Batman's weapons, and using Batman's tactics... Only one person could possibly know at this extent how Batman functioned, and only he could bastardize everything Bruce stood for with guns, excessive force, and murder.

Jason had returned from his hiatus, back on both feet, and was ripping through the criminals like there was no tomorrow. He had clearly watched as Gotham slowly deteriorated, silently waiting for Dick to step up to the mantle and bring the city back to order. When Dick stood by idly refusing to take up the cowl, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. It was too obvious, when you knew what to look for… and Tim was no stranger to drawing conclusions from limited knowledge. Making matters worse, he knew Jason was _traumatized_ , and completely unhinged even when compared with the man’s standard mind set. Between Bruce’s sudden, though temporary demise, and the last words Bruce had delivered via hologram, Jason was _hurt_.

And as much as Jason hurt he paid it back tenfold.

Dick was clearly far more exhausted than he even looked, as even when Tim provided the facts he had not automatically taken the hint and concluded that the horrors were being committed by the rogue ex-Robin, and insisted that he they not draw conclusion until they had solid evidence proving the identity of the imposter. Even though others were prancing around in various ‘batsuits’, they were causing far less damage, laying low, and Tim had thought it foolish to lump Jason in with the others who were being far from serious.

Again Tim tried to make Dick see reason. Tried to make him understand that Gotham needed a Batman, but the man was unwilling to listen, and shrugged him off, choosing instead to continue fighting a losing battle alongside their many allies.

Tim was disgusted. Appalled that the city was crumbling around them, that Dick refused to do anything necessary to resolve things, how Jason was out ruining the Batman legacy by doing everything their mentor had had ever preached against… and he was disgusted to admit to himself that what Jason was doing was _working_.

Since the arrival of the 'Batman of Horrors', things had slowly begun to tone down and taper off. The fear was back in Gotham. It made Tim sick, riddled with guilt, as for the first time he realized that what they did was not a solution, only _maintenance_. There would never be an end, and even Bruce had understood that, even though Tim was sure that Bruce had never quite realized just how much his presence and symbol had stood for, how important he had really been.

They could keep the average criminals at bay, arresting them, institutionalizing them, and getting them off the streets. Wherever they were carted off to they stayed. Some questionables left out on the streets would be too scared to follow in their footsteps for fear of the Batman, but there were always others who would surface, and they too would be put away where they belonged as they crawled out of whatever holes they lived in.

But then there were the _monsters_ … the lot that time and again were causing mass destruction and spreading death. The types such as the _Joker_ , and Two-Face, who always managed to escape from Arkham no matter what security was placed on them or types of confinement that held them. It was those big names that were the _true_ threat to Gotham, and thus far they had yet to manage to control them. They would never stop, and over the years, they had succeeded in making it personal for each and every one of them. Every big name criminal seemed to live to fight Batman, to _destroy_ Batman, and obliterate all that he held dear. Somehow, someway, they would _always_ come back to haunt them no matter what incidents occurred or where they were held.

They would not stop until they were _dead_.

And the only one willing to take that step was Jason.

Tim knew all too well _why_ they did things the way they did. He knew why they did not kill, why they had to resist those urges, and why they chose to lock criminals away even if they coudn;t always be kept behind bars. It did not make excepting that there was never any end to it any easier though. Not when it was always their family and friends that suffered for it.

But they had chosen their paths.

Just like Tim had needed to make a choice when Dick had refused once again to see sense. He donned the cape and cowl hesitantly, all the while wishing Bruce had made his return already. The suit was all too big, too heavy both physically, and emotionally. It felt oh so very wrong… gave him flashes of the last time he had seen himself in a bat suit, in a future he hoped would never exist. He refused to look at himself in the mirror as he left the cave, stopping only briefly to leave a note just in case he was missed during his absence.

His first order of business had been Jason. It had needed to be done. He would not have been able to stand by and watch the man taint Bruce's image any longer, all the while doing what they dare not do themselves. It was _his_ fault that Jason was on the streets murdering at will. Those deaths were all on his hands, even if Jason would have escaped Blackgate on his own eventually. But perhaps things would not have been this bad had he not let Jason view Bruce’s message... if Bruce’s harsh, _wrong_ words had not set him off.

In hindsight, going after him alone had admittedly been one of his more rash ideas, and he had paid for it, nearly with his life. The rusted batarang Jason had lodged in his chest would have killed him if he had not been wearing one of Bruce's suits, the thick armor fracturing it into half a dozen pieces before the largest lodged in his sternum. Tim wanted to believe that perhaps Jason had secretly known the suit would offer him some protection from the attack, but deep down he knew that it was wishful thinking, that Jason had been in the midst of one hell of a psychotic break. The shattered pieces of the batarang did quite enough damage regardless of the armor. Enough so that he had needed to be rescued in the end, pulled from the oncoming explosion, by _Damian_ of all people.

Damian, with a bullet to the chest, in _Robin_ gear… adding insult to injury.

By the end of that night, no one could be sure if Jason was living or not, Tim was laying on Alfred's medical table, and Dick was Batman.

When Tim awoke the next morning, he supposed that he should have been content, all things considered.

Although Jason had fallen from a great height, his body was nowhere to be found in the waters below, meaning he had likely survived to see another day. Tim took comfort in that. Even with his injuries, he understood that Jason was in a bad place- they _all_ were, and the last thing he wanted was another loss even if it was someone he was far from close to.

He himself was injured, but not gravely, and although it would take some time for him to recover he was alive… and Dick?

Dick had finally caved. Dick was the _current_ Batman. If anything had been a success the previous night it was showing the stubborn man just how much Gotham needed a Batman, and any length of time without one would be cause for chaos. Tim was sure that Dick becoming Batman would be good for the city even if it took the man a long time to adjust. He soon found out that he was mistaken…

With both Tim and Damian down for the count with their injuries Dick went out on his own. As Batman the nights were much easier than they had been as Nightwing. Having known Bruce for so many years Dick was able to match the persona almost flawlessly. In just three days' time he was able to clean up most of the city with the help of the visiting friends. They had been unable to track down a few of the big names but that was unfortunately to be expected. Their visitors slowly returned to their own lives as the days went on leaving the city in Dick's mostly capable hands.

Gordon was relieved. Granted, the cell blocks of the GCPD were filled, Blackgate was complaining about the massive flood of inmates, and Arkham was slow to repopulate, but he felt safer with Batman back lurking in the shadows.

Damian acted like himself despite the gunshot wound to the shoulder and other injuries. He played things off like they were nothing, despite having a hole through him, and walking around with a bruised lung. When Tim finally left their hospital wing on day four, Dick found the time to pull him aside and lecture him about how reckless he had been, and how he had, although unintentionally, put everyone else in danger. He then had hovered for a moment before embracing Tim tightly, typical Dick, demanding he never do it again. All Tim managed was a scowl, before he stomped his way upstairs, joining Alfred in the kitchen.

The next few days had blurred together in Tim's mind. Life was pretty mundane. He ate meals with the family once again, but conversation was minimal, and many times forced. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and he still felt the eyes stabbing into the back of his head when he the household thought he wasn’t paying attention and it left him just as unnerved as before. Damian resumed his absolute dislike of all things Tim, and even took to pointing out how weak he had been, having to be rescued by an injured child. When Tim had reached his breaking point with the boy, he had slammed him up against the wall with a roar. Conveniently, Dick had chosen just that moment to return home. The smug look on Damian's face as Dick tore into him would haunt his nightmares.

"What in the _hell_ has gotten into you?!" Dick had cried in outrage in a startlingly accurate Bat-voice, grabbing Tim's wrist and prying him away from the younger boy.

To be truthful, Tim wasn't so sure himself and had neglected to respond. Instead he had retrieved his arm from the _not-Batman_ , and had hurried up into the manor seeking safety in his room. He had thrown himself under the blanket, not bothering to change, with them pulled tightly over his head. He did not want to seem childish, but the stress he had been going through, and the constant jabs Damian sent his way made it all the more difficult to stay calm. Removing himself from the room seemed the only option.

He had slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, nightmares galore. Looking back, he figured he should have seen what happened the next evening coming… should have seen the oncoming breakdown.

Tim had feigned sleep well through the day, and only left the shelter of his room when he could no longer stand his protesting stomach, hunger pains finally getting the best of him. He had found the kitchen void of life and a plate resting in the microwave for him much to his relief. He did not bother leaving the kitchen, and instead scarfed down the food ravenously right there, barely taking the time to taste his mashed potatoes and sliced turkey before it made its way down his throat. After tossing his plate in the sink he had made his way to the cave.

And then his world had crashed down around him.

"Why is he wearing _that_?" Tim had frozen at the bottom of the stone steps, voice sounding an octave higher than typical as the lump formed in his throat.

Dick, fully clad as Batman, had been unable to suppress his flinch before turning to meet Tim's wide eyes. Damian was less subtle, and turned to him arms crossed, smirking in satisfaction. The boy stood proudly next to 'Batman' decked out in custom Robin gear far from the traditional. Tim had felt his heart rate skyrocket as he stared at the two, knowing, just _knowing_ …

Dick removed the cowl and sighed, stepping towards him, and perhaps Damian was smart enough to know when to not interfere as the boy held his position, and his tongue.

"Tim… _listen_ to me-"

"I asked you a question!" Tim snapped, eyes locked on the crimson tunic the child was sporting, willing the bile rising in his throat to dissipate.

"And I'm answering it if you would let me..." The man rubbed at a temple, taking in a deep yet shaky breath. "Tim, you're not right. You haven't been for a while. You have had us all seriously worried about you since- _well_ , since Bruce died. You have become increasingly detached from your surroundings. You become manic at the slightest provocation. You're jumping into hostile situations without thinking ahead, and you've made some serious mistakes in recent that could have easily cost you, or any one of us our lives." Dick pleaded with his eyes, hoping for him to understand.

"You're _firing_ me." It was a statement, not a question, and quite suddenly Tim had felt light headed.

Dick let out a pained whine.

"Tim, _please_ understand. You need to take some time off, to pull yourself together… _recover_. You are not fit for duty right now. You need… you need help-"

"Firing me and planning to put me _away_ too? Yeah, you're really trying to help Dick!" Tim snarled, backing up against the stairs.

At this point Alfred had been at a loss with what to do and could only watch nervously as the scene played out. He could truly understand all sides of the situation and that made assisting near impossible. He looked on gravely as Tim quickly fell to pieces and Dick tried to keep things calm.

"I said nothing about putting you away Tim! But you _do_ need help, you need to talk to someone. Bottling everything up is doing nobody any good. You're only hurting yourself. Take some time off, let yourself rest. You have had a really rough time as of late. You've lost so many people dear to you. That kind of trauma is enough to make anyone lose it, and you lost your father, Steph, Bart, Conn-"

"STOP!" Tim cried, clenching his fists at his side. "Just- just _stop_!"

Tim's face was mortified, twisted in rage and anguish as he gaped at Dick. He was shaking, and on the brink of a panic attack. Dick could see it coming and it tugged at his heart.

"Tim, I'm _not_ firing you. Think of it as a _vacation_. Take this time to pull yourself together, take the time to actually grieve. It’s been too much all at once. When you have recovered from this shock to your system, I'll happily welcome you back with open arms." Dick smiled weakly. "I'm Batman now, as much as I _hate_ admitting it, and… Damian will be my Robin. You know as well as I that he needs the _experience_ , that he needs a way to focus that explosive energy, blow off steam, and at the same time learn some moral values. He needs this just as much as you need a breather. Look, when you're ready to come around, when you are _truly_ feeling up to it… I could sure use a Nightwing."

And that is when something clicked…

Dick was _removing_ the past.

He was severing all ties Tim had to it, removing it like a malignant mass... wanted him to just _forget_. Dick never wanted to let him don the Robin suit again. He no longer found him worthy of the title, tried to play it off as something he and Damian both needed, when in reality he just wanted him to move on, and play father to Bruce’s son like the man had done to him in the begining. He valued the son of the Bat born an assassin for the position more than he cared about Tim's attachment to the roll and all of the work he had put into it over the years. All of the sacrifices. He could feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest and his lungs seemed incapable of functioning.

He supposed this had been what Jason had felt like when he had inevitably found out about him and his role in Bruce’s life. He supposed he had it coming, despite having never intended to become Robin, and should have known the moment Damian had been dropped into their lives that this would happen at some point.

The irony was in the fact that Tim had not _died_. He was still alive, healthy, fully capable… And he was being replaced by the man who had initially forced him into taking the position by not returning to it himself… and that was unbearably painful.

Dick did not _want_ him.

Made Tim wonder if he ever really had, or if he had just been a convenient scapegoat all along, glue to hold Bruce’s psyche intact.

He felt _sick_.

" _Nightwing_?" Tim spat the name out venomously, and watched as Dick's eyes widened, perhaps realizing all too late that it had been the wrong thing to say. " **Nightwing?!** I don't WANT to be Nightwing! You can't just decide that for me- _for yourself_! You're _replacing_ me, giving the last thing I have left- something I hold dear, to a vicious holy terror who has legitimately tried to _murder_ me for the sole purpose of overthrowing me!" He screamed, the corners of his eyes burning as he glared at his 'brother'.

"Tim-"

"Don't 'Tim' me!" He roared, taking two steps back up the stairs. Dick moved toward him instinctively with this action, causing the younger to stiffen at his approach.

"Tim, _please_ -"

"PLEASE?! You're going to beg me to accept this? Well I won't! I _can't_!" At this point, Tim had slipped into hysterics, the lack of sleep, the stress, and the new found fright of the current situation all at once getting the best of him. "Bruce wouldn't want this! He wouldn't let this happen Dick- _won’t_ let this happen. When he comes back he- he’ll make this right! He wouldn't take that away from me." and as soon as the words left his mouth, Tim had regretted them.

Dick's face morphed from worry, to fear.

He had slipped up, brought up the taboo subject again, and now he would pay for it. Tim felt the chill rush through his body as the man took hesitant steps toward him. Damian bristled at this action, and drew his sword, holding it at the ready, whilst Alfred moved to intercept the boy if at all necessary.

"You… you _still_ believe that Timmy?" Dick's voice was serious, and laced with concern. It made Tim's dinner consider making a break for it the umpteenth time and he fought the urge determinedly.

Yes… he still very much believed that Bruce would return.

The question was, why Dick did not?

Tim only stared at the man, watching his slow approach, before he bolted up the stairs, seeking the shelter of his room away from prying eyes.

The looks all three had been giving him…

Tim locked the door, and pushed the dresser in front of it. He did not bother to turn the light on. He ripped the blankets from his bed and slung them around himself tightly before he collapsed in a heap in the far corner of the room, burying his face in his knees. He could hear Dick at his bedroom door, begging to be let in, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as the sobs broke free from his throat.

Tim was not sure when the man had decided to give up, but after some time he was aware that the pounding at his door had ceased, and Dick was no longer standing behind it. The man could have gotten through the door if he had really wanted to, Tim knew this. He wasn't sure whether or not he should be relieved that he had been left alone, or crushed that Dick had not had enough nerve to try.

He had been betrayed by the one person he had never expected, and it hurt, more than he could have imagined… and that was not something Tim was ever going to forget.

That night it was impossible to miss Bruce any more than he already was.

Tim was sure things would only get worse before they got better.

He only wished he had known how true that really had been.


	4. Chapter 4

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Tim awoke with a start, gasp breaking free of his throat, with tears threatening to spill and roll down his cheeks. He gave a frustrated shout he leapt from the couch, whipping the blankets angrily to the floor, before sinking down onto the padded mat.

It was not fair… not at all.

He had done _nothing_ to deserve such torture.

The nightmares were ridiculous, never ending, and all he truly wanted to do was have a single night’s sleep where he was not more exhausted waking up than he had been prior to passing out.

Tonight it had been Kon's turn once more to die. Conner always hurt the most, hit the hardest, and left him the most shaken upon waking. He had held something special with the half Kryptonian boy. They had been _so_ close, thought so alike, and had truly enjoyed each other's company with few expectations, something he could honestly say he had not had elsewhere. Conner had not _deserved_ to die. His life had been so short. He had been so understanding, patient, and loving. They had never been anything more than close friends, _very_ close, but they had sure had their moments. Enough to make it count and enough for them to have had periods of guilt in regards to Cassie and Steph at the time. Only two people other than themselves were aware of how tight their bond had been... Bart, and Dick.

Making matters worse, now that he was tucked away in his temporary safe house, Tim felt as though he had not slept very long at all, and he had no real way of knowing just how many hours he had managed to drift off. He had left his watch behind at the Manor purposely in the off chance that it had a tracer built within. He had kept what he had brought along with him at a minimum, and since leaving had been a _very_ last second decision, he had not had the time to take the thing apart to check it, nor the right mindset. One thing was for sure, he was going to have to purchase a clock of some sort, and soon, if he ever hoped to get a steady routine going.

With a sigh, he stretched back against the mat, and wiped his face with the back of a sleeve. He had not had a proper workout in nearly a week, and as things stood, that probably was not a good thing. Body condition would be of more importance now than it had ever been. So, he set out to change that. At the very least, it would get his mind off of his nightmares, and get him back on the road to normalcy.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Entry #172 – Vacated Nest, Day 002_

_Drake left the residence approximately forty-three hours ago, according to the video feed, at 3:27pm. No note was left behind, nor was Pennyworth informed of his destination. No personal artifacts accompanied him other than the garments upon his person, making his initial departure no cause for concern. However one of this household does not vacate unannounced, disappear for an extended span of time, and not establish communication within a twelve hour window. Upon investigation, it was concluded that he was not wearing a tracer, and had left all radio devices up in his dwelling. Therefore one must conclude that he has, metaphorically, 'flown the coop'._

_Drake was not of sound mind prior to his sudden departure. Clearly he was suffering from paranoid delusions caused by extreme, repetitive, mental trauma and boundless emotional distress. His inability to accept Father's death as fact rather than fiction adding to his mental turmoil. One can assume that the decisive act leading up to his sudden abandonment of this household was my ascension to the Robin mantle upon Grayson's determination of Drake's increasing psychosis, something that quite frankly should have occurred ages ago upon my arrival in Gotham, as I am far more proficient in all departments than he. Nevertheless, taking my rightful place at Grayson's side seems to have been the final act to push him over the edge._

_I have enjoyed his absence fully, for there is no longer a constant unhinged annoyance shadowing my every move, and I have had the full attention of the household residents. Everything is as it should be, and yet I am unable to rest easy as Drake's disappearance is hindering Grayson's ability to focus whilst on patrol, causing me to have to pick up the slack and alert him of his shortcomings to keep the man alive. His emotions make him self-destructive and sloppy, something that never got the best of father. Time will only tell if Grayson can handle the mantle of the bat, but as things stand, he is clearly inadequate for the position. However, out of present choices, Grayson is as good as Gotham is going to get, and I will continue to watch his back and knock sense into the man._

_-/-/-/-/-/-/- End log*_

Damian sighed and rubbed at a temple as he stretched back in his chair. He glared at the screen in annoyance. He could care less that Tim had disappeared, for he strongly _disliked_ the former Robin, but it was Dick's worrying and fears about the teen that had him on edge. They made Dick sloppy, which made him an easy target, resulting in him distressing and feeling the need to guard the older man.

It was not natural for Robin to have a higher performance rate than Batman, and Dick would need to shape up, or risk Gotham falling back into chaos.

This was of course, all Timothy Jackson Drake's fault, and if Damian got a hold of him, he best pray that Dick was in the vicinity to save him from acquiring a plethora of broken bones. Damian would not kill him. No… that would upset his overly emotional mentor even further.

Absolutely counterproductive no matter how tempting…

With a sigh, the child stood from his desk and left the solitude of his room, choosing to see how breakfast was progressing in the kitchen below.

He kicked Tim's door as he passed it for good measure.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim sat shivering as he worked silently on his costume. His long overdue workout had left him sweaty with a dull ache afterwards. The cold shower had been a necessary evil, sticky flesh a distraction, and the heat was cranked up once more to ease the chill in his bones. He was going to enjoy relocating when the time came if for nothing more than a proper bathroom with temperature controls. He was not sure how long he would be able to stand icy showers that left his hands stiff and sore long after returning them to warmth.

He worked diligently at his stitching, using both the machine and hand stitches to secure each seam and layer. It was times such as this that he wondered just how Alfred put up with all of them, as costume repairs were frequent for all of them, especially Bruce and Dick.

After putting in a handful of hours, Tim sat back in his chair with a pleased smirk, admiring his handiwork. It was far from the perfection produced by the elder man, but he was more than content with the end results. The suit was primarily black, something he had been unable to avoid with what materials he had to work with, but had a stylized 'redbird' figure across the front. Similar to Nightwing's 'bluebird', but covering the length of his torso rather than just his chest, and was a modified pattern. The 'bird' climbed up towards the shoulders and striped down the arms, fingers and all. He had added Bat-style gauntlets to his forearms, so as to avoid too many similarities to Nightwing by breaking the color pattern, and giving him his armor boost. The boots were mid-calf, tabi style. Accompanying the costume, was a floor length, high necked black cape, of which he had considered modifying the corresponding cowl to suit his needs, before deciding against it. Tim was not batman, nor did he desire to be, and any form of cowl would make him feel as though he were trying to replace him. He had already felt out of place wearing it a single night before Dick had taken over the mantle. So Tim had simply removed the cowl all together.

He had been glad to see Bat remnants lurking in the cabinets with the Nightwing gear, after initially overlooking them. He assumed that Dick must have stored them at this particular safe house after his stint as Batman, when Jean-Paul had been removed from power. The gauntlets could come in handy, and he always _had_ been the most armored of the Robins. The cape was much heavier and longer than he was used to, but practice would make perfect. He adapted the lone utility belt present to suit his size and individual needs, and stocked it full of necessaries. He would use one of Nightwing's less common, rejected masks. Unfortunately, they were all far from being the high tech ones the Bat-clan had been using in recent years, but they were better than nothing, and the main purpose of the masks were to protect their identities in the end really, and he could always upgrade at a later time once settled in his new location.

He would still have to acquire his primary weapon one way or another. The rest of the gear stocked throughout the safe house was workable with proper modification.

Tim was jolted from his musings with the sound and clenching of his stomach, and he frowned, remembering all that he could not just run to the fridge anymore. He would have to make a supply run and it would have to count. He did not have a vehicle at his disposal and he could not risk making a second run to a store so close to his current home base.

He put away all remaining work scraps and remnants, and quickly folded up his suit, setting it under the couch for safe keeping. He swapped pairs of jeans, and brushed his hands through his hair in mock effort of untangling the damp locks. It had gotten longish as of late, longer than he had ever kept it in the past, but that could work to his advantage with this new identity. Besides, haircuts were something best left to the professionals, and that was not on the top of his list of priorities at current. He would make due.

Tim retrieved his briefcase from its resting place, draped it across his lap, and opened it. He thumbed through a band of bills, and took five hundred dollars from the small stack. He replaced the remainder within the case with the rest of his cash before slipping it back behind the couch.

Tim was far from being at ease as he left the confines of the safe house despite slipping out just as unnoticed as he had slipping in the day before. He kept his hood up, and head down as he walked down the streets, careful to avoid showing his face to know locations of Oracle cams.

His plan for this trip?

Grab a snack, acquire a few changes of civilian clothes, grocery shop, and pick up a new digital watch…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick lay on his bed staring at the ceiling feeling absolutely drained and defeated. He wished Tim would come home, call, email, _anything_ … just to let him know that he was okay. He regretted not talking to Tim more. He was angry with himself for not consoling the boy and choosing to instead leave him to calm down on his own as he had seemed to want.

He should have _never_ just assumed that Tim had stop believing that Bruce would be coming back. But how was he to have known that he hadn't just been in shock? Tim had unfortunately experienced the death of loved ones several times throughout his years as Robin, especially as of late, but Bruce's had affected him in an entire different, traumatizing way. Looking back, he regretted not forcing him to seek help earlier. Perhaps if he had, Tim would not be missing, hiding from him, doing god only knows what. The only comfort he had was that Tim was in civilian clothing, and unarmed, which at the very least made him no target of Gotham's major criminals still at large- most worrisome of all, the _Joker_ , who had seemingly disappeared without a trace.

The man let out a whine and slammed his fists into the mattress at his sides.

"Punishing the bed you oh-so-appreciate will not ease your frustrations, I assure you Master Richard…" Alfred had a faint smile gracing his lips as Dick jolted upright in the bed, a slight flush rolling across his face.

"Y-yeah… _right_. Sorry Alfred." He gave a nervous laugh, and slid off the bed and onto his feet. "What's for lunch? Damian behaving? He’s been awfully quiet, and in his case that could be a bad thing…"

The elder man regarded Dick carefully before giving a sad sigh and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I too am worried about young Master Timothy, but it would be wise to keep calm and carry on. Regardless of state of mind, Master Timothy is an intelligent, resourceful, young man. He is _upset_ , and after of his recent hardships and tragedies, he is simply unwilling to let go of yet another loved one. He shall eventually come to his senses on the matter, in which I unfortunately expect quite the emotional breakdown. You boys tend to forget that your comrades, as well as yourselves, are mere children. Perhaps not yourself any longer from a technical point of view, but ALL of you boys will forever be children in my mind. I have repeatedly over the years voiced my opinion about having young ones out in the field, but I have been continually ignored by both Master Bruce _and_ said children. You are all at times reluctant to take the advice of a wise old worrywart of a man I am afraid."

Dick smiled widely at the old man before embracing him tightly.

"Thanks Alfred. I needed that…"

"Any time Master Richard." He returned the hug briefly before pulling away. "Now, to answer your questions, there is a lovely smoked salmon on the dining room table, and Master Damian is currently eating while simultaneously going over reports. How I wish that boy would leave his work down in the cave…" He trailed off while walking from the room with a slightly more content Dick.

Alfred could not keep him from worrying… but he sure knew how to make things feel better.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim groaned in protest.

Doing ALL of his shopping at once had been a poor choice. The bags in hand strained his neglected muscles as he slowly made his way back to base.

He stopped for a rest several times before arriving back at the warehouse, and by the time he had arrived, his hands were swollen from the constriction of the plastic handles. He set the bags aside temporarily to do a quick check of the area, to ensure that security had not increased since he had left, and he could still slip in unseen even with a plethora of groceries to drag inside. After clearing the area, he made his way inside, and quickly slipped behind the false wall and locked doors, arriving back 'home' at last.

He tossed the bags of new clothes and shoes upon the couch before heading to the kitchen area to unload the food. He had not bought much to eat, with no way to cook at his current location, but it would suffice for the time being. A half-gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, some soup cups, fruit, salad supplies, and several bags of jerky to satisfy any craving for meat.

He had bought a new watch which he had opened and set in store. It was digital, damage resistant, compact, and water proof. It had cost a pretty penny, but he would only end up constantly replacing a lesser model due to damage. It was worth it.

He was glad to have a few changes of clothes now, so he would not be risking going out in the same thing whenever he had to chance an excursion, and he could get the slightest bit more comfortable while sleeping or training. He still had no decent way of washing them, but he figured that hand cleaning them, and then hanging them near the heater to dry was a tolerable option.

He reached into a bag and retrieved two cans of spray paint from within, a deep metallic red, and set off to make some necessary adjustments. He spent the next half hour meticulously masking off and painting his stock of wingdings with his colors, replacing any feel of Nightwing with that of his own, making them unique to his persona. With no ventilation in the sealed room, he stopped after a third of them were finished, opting to not fumigate the room any more than necessary.

He was itching to go patrol, but given that he had only been MIA for two days, he knew that it probably wasn't the best idea no matter how odd it felt to be locked indoors. Dick would likely be keeping an eye out for him during his runs and he simply could not risk being discovered so soon. He opted instead to get used to his new costume indoors and adjust to its heavier weight, going through his typical work out, and testing his mobility.

Overall, it was not too drastic of a difference. The length and weight of the cape made acrobatics more challenging, but not impossible. Perhaps he would adjust it at a later time, once he was settled in and could acquire proper supplies under the radar. What counted was that he was well protected, and with running through Gotham solo, he was going to need it.

He braved the shower once more afterwards, grimacing as the ice cold water beat down on his body, and he tremored from the chill. The water was so cold that each time he showered he still felt grimy, unable to spend an adequate amount of time under the water to give himself a nice scrub down. Still, it was better than being sweat drenched and salty skinned, and at least his hair was clean.

He ate soup for dinner that night, heated in the microwave, and drank a room temperature bottle of water. The hot chicken noodle soup aided in the reclamation of his body warmth. He turned in early for the night, choosing to pull the couch bed out this time, and gave a soft sigh as it looked all the more welcoming. He threw the bags of clothes on a counter, not bothering to put them away, figuring that at some point he would need them easily accessible anyway. The cushions acted as suitable pillows and he was able to stretch out beneath the blankets instead of being forced to curl up in an awkward position. It was only nine, but it seemed like a rather long day between the costume construction, two training sessions, and his trip outside to the stores.

He had not needed to wait long either.

He was asleep within minutes even with the frame of the couch bed digging into pressure points.

He was not expecting to sleep soundly.

He had not had that pleasure in a long while…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Tim… we need to talk." Dick's voice was low as he spoke through the barricaded door of Tim's bedroom.

The teen did not bother answering from his curled up position in the corner where he had been all night. He had not slept, unable to get the image of _Batman_ -Dick and _Robin_ -Damian leaping through the city, and running across rooftops out of his mind. He wondered just how many people had needed to be carted off in an ambulance after a beat down at the hands of Damian rather than riding off in a police cruiser. Had anyone died? It was no secret that Damian was a trained killer and still had issues restraining himself. He could not understand why Dick would make the risk after knowing the boy such a short time…

"Please Timmy… open the door. Come down to breakfast. Let Alfred and I know what's going on. We only want to help you. Keeping all of this- _whatever it is_ , bottled up, isn't healthy. We can't help you with what you're going through if you don't talk to us.”

Go down to breakfast, deal with the worried, criticizing, frightened stares? Sit with the man that _replaced_ him, thought him crazy at this point, _and_ the demon child that was so smug and arrogant about his personal victory?

He would rather _starve_.

The man behind the door sighed and rested his forehead against the cool wood.

"Tim… Bruce would not want you to be like this. He wouldn't want _any_ of us to lose it over him! Please, be reasonable –"

And Tim acknowledged him with the violent crash as the glass he whipped at the door shattered upon impact. Dick leapt back at the sound, and stared at the door with wide eyes, shifting from side to side as he struggled with what to do next. Instead of pursuing the situation further himself, he opted for the easier, and quite possibly the _only_ approach that would not spark another destructive reaction.

He left, stepped back downstairs, and sent Alfred on up.

The soft knock on the door had Tim suppressing a half defeated groan.

"Master Tim?" Alfred's calm voice sounded from behind the door, and with a dejected sigh, he rose to his shaky feet, and approached the dresser barricade.

"…what is it?" He sounded tired, defeated, and disheartened.

"Might I come in and have a chat?"

His shoulders slumped, and reluctantly, he slowly pulled the dresser aside to gently open the door. He was agitated that Dick would stoop so low that he would use the old man to get his way, but he had never been able to disappoint Alfred, and the man knew that weakness. He was the only one with a sturdy head on his shoulders and he had enough love and compassion for everyone.

One could _not_ get mad at him nor treat him poorly.

Tim retreated to his bed, pulling his knees back up against his chest as the man stepped into the room, pausing to grimace at the shards of glass littering the floor, before sitting on the foot of the teen's bed.

"I believe that there is no need to tell you just how worried we are about you, Master Tim." Alfred frowned when he was only met with silence. "You _must_ understand… the way you have been acting- _speaking_ as of late is not typical of you."

Tim sighed, and nodded.

" _Yeah_ …"

"You must also realize that if it were you watching say, Master Richard, behave this way that you would be reacting just as he has with you, correct?" He prompted.

The teen hissed in response and Alfred rose a brow at him in surprise.

" _Wrong_. He won't believe me. I would have believed _him_. I wouldn't have treated him like he needed to be institutionalized. I wouldn't have taken every last thing he had left away from him, and I wouldn't have shunned him, replacing him with an irrational newer model. He hasn't listened, hasn't cared since- since…" Tim trailed off, not knowing what to really call Bruce's 'death', when he was not really gone- for good at least.

Alfred looked grim and shook his head sadly.

"As much as I would _very_ much like to believe that Master Bruce will return to us I am afraid that it simply is not possible my boy. We have seen his body and have laid him to rest. My heart aches not only for the loss of a man I long considered to be a son, but for all of you boys as well who have lost someone that was a father to you. I suggest for your sake, that you put those thoughts to rest, and concentrate on taking care of yourself. Everything will turn out fine; life must go on Master Tim."

Tim's shoulders slumped and his face fell.

"Things will _not_ be fine… he's trying to erase everything."

"He is merely trying to adjust, as are we _all_. No one ever claimed that moving on was an easy feat." He sighed. “Please keep that in mind.” And with that, Alfred rose, and left the room, giving Tm back his silence.

He did not attend breakfast, nor lunch that day, and Alfred brought dinner to his room.

Tim left it sitting on the counter.

The days rolled on slowly. Tim ate when he absolutely could not stand the hunger pangs any longer. He refused to enter the cave, he did not train, and he did not participate in detective work. Dick attempted conversation a handful of times, but learned quickly that Tim was not speaking to him, offering only the silent treatment.

Damian intentionally sought to rile him up however, and one night before he and Dick left for patrol, he had upset Tim so much that the teen had launched himself at the younger boy, and they had tumbled down the main stairwell leaving both boys bruised and battered with Alfred promptly scolding them both as Dick pulled them apart.

 _"No one needs you. You are useless Drake!"_ would echo in his dreams for many nights to come.

It was the very next evening that Tim had been walking through the halls only to stumble upon Dick talking on the phone in Bruce's old study…

He had not even intended to listen in on the conversation but found that he could not resist when he heard his name in passing.

"Yes, I believe it is imperative that we start as soon as possible. Every day it seems as though he slips further and further away from us. I'm afraid of what might happen, what he could do- _Yes_ , thank you for your support Doc…"

Tim did not need to be the genius he was to know what the call had been all about.

Dick was no longer willing to tolerate him. He was afraid that he might actually _hurt_ someone.

Probably Damian.

He was now going to pass him on to some random shrink hoping for a miracle. But Tim's problems were not something that could be fixed by some stranger. A doctor could not force Bruce's return, nor make Dick reconsider his choice of Robin, or change the fact that he had thrown him aside. No one would make Dick believe him. And how was he to speak his mind when he had secrets to uphold?

The man was going to end up getting him committed…

He returned to his room in a rush, not wanting anyone to discover that he had overheard the conversation and take action sooner than planned.

His head was spinning.

He could _not_ let Dick put him at the mercy of some stranger who could not even speak the truth to. He could _not_ go see a therapist.

Alfred and Damian's words repeated themselves in his head as the panic attack took over.

_"No one needs you. You are useless Drake!"_

_"Take care of yourself. Everything will turn out fine; life must go on Master Tim…"_  
  
He would have to leave, he decided, the only option he had been left with.

He would have to take care of _himself_.

They would not miss him, at least… not for the right reasons.

Eventually, life would go on, just as Alfred had said.

Tim left at 3:27pm the very next day.

As he fled he never once looked back.


	5. Chapter 5

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

He was not sleeping well. Not at all if he were being honest with himself.

He had been living in his current safe house for five days now, and things had only progressively gotten worse, rather than better as he had initially hoped. Sleep came in small fitful bursts, leaving him more drained than before he had even touched down on the poor excuse for a bed, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He was thankful for the soundproof cement walls, as he was sure that his screams of anguish and fear, courtesy of the nightmares, would have given away his position to the warehouse employees days ago. It was not as though nightmares were a new thing. In their line of work they were pretty much a given, but they had never been this bad before, and for lack of a better explanation he could only blame the severe amount of stress he was under.

He had picked up a large case of energy drinks at the first sign of these problems. They were vile tasting, and not at all good for his nerves, but at least they got him through the day.

He missed coffee.

He trained a decent portion of each day, bringing his body back up to par, and even going as far as somewhat surpassing his previous condition. He was careful not to bulk up and lose his agility, but he knew a slight increase in strength, even if minute, could mean the difference between life and death now that he would no longer have backup lurking in the shadows. The added weight of the bat-cape was no longer an issue, something he would be thankful for once he finally begun patrolling Gotham once more, and although the new suit felt foreign to him even still, it was growing on him.

Tim was aware that he was not eating as much as he knew he should, but he could not bring himself to care. Without having a functional kitchen at his disposal, there was little that he could purchase for sustenance, and between his sleep deprivation, waves of night terrors, and the bite of the fowl energy drinks licking at his stomach, he could feel his gut churn at the slightest idea of a larger meal. He ate enough, stayed hydrated, and that was all that really mattered.

He could not stay tucked away in the underground bunker forever. Sooner or later Dick and Damian would be making their rounds searching for him. It was not Dick's nature to leave things as they were, especially given the man's recent opinion of his mental stability, and he had no doubt in his mind that the man would finally accept that he was not coming back on his own and that he would break out all of the stops to locate him. They had to be close to their breaking point, with a week of his absence being just around the corner, and surely they would check all previously established safe houses figuring that he had sought refuge within one for the time being. Which he had, given that it was the lost logical choice, for safety reasons. It had been the wisest thing to do while he caught his bearings and figured out a plan of action. That fact alone was the sole reason he had resisted the pull of the city and had refrained from going out on patrol.

So as Tim sat upon the couch with his knees tucked up to his chest he thought long and hard about where he ought to station himself. He would have to avoid setting up shop anywhere near Nightw- _Batman's_ typical route. Damian would likely still be forced to remain solely at Dick's side for the time being, as he was new to the role, but as the typical rash sidekick with a particularly strong sense of pride he would likely waver on that rule somewhat on a regular basis. Therefor he would have to add several blocks to the boundary line in any direction to compensate for childish decisions.

Tim rubbed his temples and furrowed his brow.

Dick would centralize their patrol in the Downtown area (where Tim was currently located) where much of the larger scale events occurred, and the heavy hitters seemed to target. Home of the GCPD, Wayne Tower, Blackgate, the Tri-Corner, as well as the home of both Gordons. This would put him and Damian right in position to access much of Gotham's areas of interest. It was a very Bruce-like thing to do.

Tim decided that it was best to stay away from Red Hood territory, the Uptown District. Old Gotham and Crime Alley were always Jason's choice locations. Uptown housed the underworld of Gotham. Poverty, drug trade, child trafficking, and weapons deals. The docks on the East end were the seediest in Gotham, the island off the West end held Arkham Asylum, while up North housed Amusement Mile. For access to the crimes the ex-Robin considered most heinous it was the perfect location to set up base. Although neither sight nor sound of Jason Todd had been heard since Dick had 'defeated' him, that meant very little. Their lot was no stranger to lying low and licking wounds while planning their next strike, and after having died once already, Jason was determined to live, even if just to make life hell for everyone.

Northern Gotham, on the main land, housed Wayne Manor, the airport, and Brentwood. He would not risk being so close to the cave, and traveling back and forth off the main land would be counterproductive as well as it would draw attention to his travels.

By process of elimination he decided that Midtown would be the smartest choice. It was away from 'family', equal distance to both of Gotham's problem areas, and overall had a low crime rate which pretty much ensured that whatever building he chose would stay secure. Much of Midtown was made up of average citizens. As such, it was also the area of the city with the least amount of surveillance from Oracle’s end. He would be able to blend in well with civilians out in the daytime and would not have to watch his positioning as neurotically to keep his face out of Barbara’s view. He could establish a reasonably comfortable and thoroughly protected residence.

The real question was _where_ in Midtown? The docks were simply made up of a plethora of industrial warehouses, and although practical for operations, Tim was looking for comfort as well functionality which required a space fit for long term living unlike his current location… If he went too far west, he would be bordering Arkham's Island, and Midtown's center was primarily parks and gardens. That limited him to the Eastern section, before the docks, primarily made of condos, apartment complexes, and business buildings. Perhaps he could get lucky and find something high up but away from prying eyes?

Tim sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.

Finding the perfect location would be difficult without internet access. He would not be able to risk the library. He would be forced to invest in a computer earlier than planned, a lesser model at that, and hover at a coffee shop with Wi-Fi. Risky, but he definitely missed having a computer on hand, and coffee was always preferable over canned liquid energy.

He admittedly could use the small comfort.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It had taken him an additional two days to locate a building and rental space to suit his specific needs. Not only had he searched for a building to fit his requisites, but he had needed to avoid taking the top most suited choices, less Dick be in the proper mindset down the line to start thinking 'Tim' enough to get the slightest bit close to tracking him down.

The complex was twelve stories high, primarily constructed of dark brick, surrounded on all sides by eight to ten story lots, though buildings down the street climbed as high as twenty stories in some locations. Perfect for exiting the building via grapple line, with little chance of being seen. It was an older establishment at the lower end of town but still a relatively safe neighborhood. The fire escape was rusted and rickety looking, likely long since below code, and unused for at least the past decade. The windows were large and wide, frames still strong and intact, making them perfect for building side entry and security installation. Owner of the building, in his early eighties, lived clear across town, and was unlikely to make social visits if he could at all avoid it. Floors eight through twelve were currently vacant despite being the larger flats (top two floors even being single units much to his pleasure) due to the elevator having not been operable in several years and most people not being in the proper shape to run up and down so many flights of stairs on a daily basis. This suited Tim nicely. It would be quiet, secluded, and he would remain entirely undisturbed.

Obtaining rights to the topmost floor had not been difficult. The owner had been ecstatic to rent out one of his higher floors and bring in more income. As Tim had expected, his ads for the upper floors had remained unanswered in quite a few years, and the others below the floor he was interested would likely continue to remain vacant.

The man had been concerned that he had requested the top floor, until they had met in person, and he had seen Tim's youth and athletic build. He avoided signing a lease and any additional paperwork, when he had offered to pay the first year's rent upfront, something practically unheard of in such parts of town, especially in cash. Tim gave the man the number to his recently acquired disposable cell (purchased directly for this reason along with the laptop he had acquired for research purposes) and the owner had seemed to get the right idea, and had left Tim with the keys, condo unseen, without even asking Tim's name.

It _was_ Gotham after all.

He had wasted no time at all in getting things situated. He left for the store by foot immediately, and purchased a plethora of cleaning supplies, four cans of off white paint, and a large duffle bag. He had taken a taxi back to the complex, and Tim had spent the entirety of the day bleaching and scrubbing his new home down, and giving it a fresh coat of paint. It had been more than he had hoped for. There was plenty of space, and for having not been inhabited for several years it was in fantastic shape. The water and gas seemed to be included in the rent, the plumbing was free of issues, and a quick phone call to the electric company gave him power.

He felt a twinge of remorse for putting the account in an unsuspecting man's name, but so long as he paid the bill, and he _would_ , there would be no harm done. He could live with that.

There were three bedrooms, two full baths, an office, a large kitchen with appliances included (of which he tested for functionality immediately), dining room, and living room. More than enough space, but at least he would not feel like he was smothering.

He left the windows of the apartment open to filter out the smell of fresh paint when he had returned to the safe house, hoping to air it out, and dry the paint faster.

He packed his bags, remembering each and every purchase he had made over the course of the eight days since leaving the manor. He bagged his garbage up, and emptied the mini fridge. He moved the space heater back into position, and folded up the couch bed, readjusting the cushions. He scrubbed the counters, wiped down the central mat, and cleaned the wash area. At a glance, he made it look as though no one had been there. He hoped that whoever came looking for him left it at that, as if they checked the cabinet for weaponry and armor, or noticed that the blankets tucked back beneath the couch had been used, they would know he had been there _and_ that he was currently armed. But at the very least he would be long gone and untraceable by the time they made that discovery.

He had decided against leaving the briefcase with his money tucked behind the couch, opting instead to purchase a safe at his earliest convenience, and store it at his new dwelling. After thinking long and hard about it the past week, there was no doubt in his mind that Dick would search every single safe house they had in hopes of finding him. So he grabbed the case, his bag of trash, and the duffle filled with what possessions and supplies he had, and left the safe house for the final time.

He was now _officially_ on his own.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"The Penguin Grayson!? _Penguin_?" Damian roared, pacing back and forth in front of Dick's bed in the sick bay, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "How could you let that revolting waddling excuse for aristocracy get the better of you!? Cobblepot should be the LEAST of our worries and you _let_ him gore you with his damned umbrella!"

Alfred cast a look over his shoulder at the boy and tutted before continuing his stitching of the man's thigh.

" _Language_ Dami…" Dick sighed. "And to be fair, I was pretty preoccupied with the half dozen idiot goons firing off their guns. Usually the guy sits there cowering or makes a break for it. Wasn't expecting him to stab me while I was disarming and punching out the guy in front of me."

"Tt… do you even realize how idiotic that sounds?" the boy growled, rubbing a temple. "What if he had opted to eviscerate you rather than simply immobilizing you? You could have _died_. I could have been left to engage in battle, make my own way to safety, pitted against multiple armed assailants and a spear wielding gelatinous blob! Not that I cannot take care of myself, but that statement seems the such to get you to realize your mistakes and think about what may occur in the future if you do not put you head back in the game Grayson. You are being a pathetic emotional fool" He huffed, crossing his arms as he stopped in front of the older men.

Dick groaned, watching as Alfred stood up straight, finished with his stitching, and made his way towards the sink. Damian glared at him, the spitting image of his father in that moment, and with a sigh, he nodded.

"Sorry kiddo… I _know_ I'm a mess. I'll be more careful in the future. I'm just worried. I screwed up, made things worse, and now Tim is out there all alone feeling betrayed and having delusions. He could be hurt right now, needing our help, and we wouldn't even know it. You have to understand what that's doing to me. Tim has been with us a long time, and despite however you may feel about him, he's a little brother to me just as much as you are. He deserves better and I regret not seeking out help for him earlier. I could have prevented this but I was in denial. Tim has been _so_ strong in the past. I thought he could handle anything. Just goes to show that we're all merely human and there's always a breaking point." He muttered, running a hand through his sweat dampened hair.

At this rate he was sure that he was going to go grey before his first year as Batman came to a close…

Damian rolled his eyes at the man and hopped up on the medical table beside him.

"Stop blaming yourself for something _you_ had no control of. If Drake's absence perturbs you so much, simply start looking for him, rather than sitting around feeling sorry about the whole debacle. It is bothersome when you cannot concentrate on patrol, and quite honestly, I would be… _distraught_ … if you were to die- GRAYSON UNHAND ME!"

Dick chuckled as he pulled Damian into his lap and snuggled into his hair despite the child's thrashing.

"Resistance is futile! Every now and again a hug is needed, so deal with it Dami…" He sighed lightly as the boy dug his nails into his arms in attempt to release himself from the older man's ironclad grip.

"I do _not_ require a hug! I have no wish to be coddled!" He snarled.

And Dick could only snort.

"Never said that _you_ needed one kiddo."

At that, Damian went limp in the man's arms and sighed, leaning back against Dick's well-toned chest in defeat.

"Very well Grayson…” He muttered. “I will _not_ deny you this simple comfort if _you_ require it."

Dick's smile lay perfectly hidden behind the child's raven locks. Alfred's however could be seen by both boys as he returned with tea.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent a restless night on the living room floor, too tired to think, but too uncomfortable to stay rested. He managed sleep for only a few hours before reluctantly awakening and taking the time to sit down and map out what he would like to do as far as his layout went.

When the sun rose, and he was sure that stores would soon be open, he set out to buy furniture and supplies.

He purchased a small safe, a queen sized bed, a large dresser, couch, and large office setup built for heavy loads to start with, and scheduled them to be delivered later in the day. He would be spending most of the night lugging everything up twelve flights of stairs, and if he left any of it in the halls overnight, he was sure that it would not be there in the morning. Therefor he determined it in his best interest to make things a gradual process.

There was no rush really. He could do things in his own time now, having no set schedule, or others to interrupt him.

Afterwards, he purchased all new pillows, blankets, and sheets, extended his civilian wardrobe, invested in an overabundance of medical supplies and toiletries, acquired blackout curtains to allow him to sleep during the day, and finished off with some light grocery shopping, thrilled with the fact that he would be able to have a warm home cooked meal for the first time in what seemed like ages.

By the time he returned home, he was exhausted, and quickly filed away his groceries so he could sit and rest up a bit while waiting for his phone to ring announcing the arrival of his deliveries. He lay on the hardwood floor staring at the ceiling nearly two hours before they arrived.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Six hours later Tim lay face down on his newly built, unmade bed, relishing in the knowledge that he had managed to bring _all_ of the new furniture up the many flights of stairs. Granted, he had left everything but the bed in the living room, but what counted most was that it was _his_ , and within his doors. With great effort, he heaved himself up off of the bed, and began to fit the sheets upon it. Several pillows and blankets later, he installed his curtains, and moved on to transporting the dresser into the master bedroom, careful to avoid any potentially tacky paint.

It wasn't much but it was _home_.

He set the office up next, building the large desk, and shelves attached with ease. It felt nice to have his hands busy, and he was looking forward to purchasing his electronics, setting up his network, building _his_ system, and installing security. The house was relatively bare, but he was in no rush now that he felt _safe_.

When all was said and done, he decided to indulge himself in the one major comfort he had been lacking the past week, a nice _hot_ bath.

To say that he loved the master bath would be an understatement. It was spacious, perfectly lit, had plenty of shelf and counter space, and the tub… oh _yes_ , he was thrilled.

The claw-footed tub was large, sparkling white, and welcoming. The hot water seemed to rise at an unbearably slow pace, and Tim stood beside it shifting back and forth in anticipation several long, agonizing minutes after stripping his clothes off. When he was sure that the water would at the very least come up over his hips he slid in with a contented hiss and pressed his back up against the gradually warming tub wall.

He had missed this, the warmth.

He wasn't sure if he would opt for a quick shower _ever_ again. Some things in life were definitely taken for granted…

He washed his hair, gave himself a much needed thorough scrub down, and lay in the tub until the very last ounce of warmth faded away before reluctantly pulling himself up out of the water. He drained the tub, pulled a pair of sweat pants on, and paused to look himself over in the mirror before heading out.

He looked tired, he concluded immediately, the shadows underneath his eyes were beginning to rival Bruce's at the worst of times, and he was sure that if Alfred could see him now he would be getting one hell of a lecture about it.

He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it away from his face before grabbing a second towel, and scrubbing his head.

A long night's rest was in order.

Perhaps then he could concentrate on putting his life back together.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Batman leapt through the darkness, running across the water slickened rooftops, Robin at his side. It was raining again on this dark night, just like the night in which Tim had vanished without a trace, and Dick could not help but compare the two despite genuinely trying to get through patrol without doing something stupid. As they flitted across the rooftops, and dove through alley ways, he could not help but keep an eye out for the teen. He knew he had promised Damian that he would stay more focused, but truthfully, he wasn't quite sure that it was possible to focus entirely on the city. The worry ate away at him. He was terrified that at any moment he would find Tim splayed across a landing, injured, sick, dead… harmed by some villain that had gotten to him despite being simply 'Tim' and not 'Robin'. He was afraid that at any time the Commissioner would be knocking on the manor's doors informing him, Dick Grayson, that they had found his brother's lifeless body in an alley… and Dick knew that if it should really happen, he would _not_ be able to keep it together, and neither Alfred, nor Damian would be able to ease his guilt.

Such fears were not processed by Damian, who had been taught from birth not only to never fear death, but face it head on. There was no explaining his emotional attachment to Tim, who had 'abandoned' their family, 'disgraced' the memory of Batman- _and_ the name of Robin, in Damian's opinion. Granted, Damian _was_ improving with each day, but it would be a long time before he could act the slightest bit like the young child that he was and let people in enough to feel for them when injured, or grieve for them when lost.

Dick could have likely continued dwelling about this, and much more as they surveyed the city long hours into the night, but it was not to be as an explosion sounded in the distance interrupting his thoughts.

With a sigh he spun in mid-air and reversed his direction, throwing the boy off guard as rain pelted his hood, and shot off back from which they had come.

"Robin, to the docks!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Safe was overrated._

He had woken himself with his own screams this time, the blankets tangled tightly around him, heart hammering within his chest as he fought to escape the bed. For a brief moment, he could not remember where he was. The smells were all foreign, the linens felt all wrong against his bare skin, and it was eerie quiet. Out of habit, he had rolled under the bed to access the situation, and after a long moment, when the silence carried on, he came back to himself and regained control over his world.

He was in _his_ apartment. No one had kidnapped him. He was secure. No one was coming for him, not just then at least, and there was no need to run, no need to hide. Everything was as it should be. And yet… it was _not_.

A whimper escaped Tim's throat, and with a frustrated shout he covered his face with his hands, forcing a sob back down his throat.

He had been a fool to stay in the safe house as long as he had.

Without realizing it, he had been comforting himself with familiar surroundings, whether he had realized it or not. He had not noticed how much it had smelled like home- _felt_ like home. Alfred's touch had been on everything surrounding him even if the makeshift dwelling space had seemed so empty and alien to him.

And now that he had left it all behind he felt a new sense of loss.

He watched the sun rise from his bedroom window from atop the bed in silence.

There would be no returning to sleep…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent much of the day store hopping, and dropping off supplies at the apartment, concentrating on nothing but his technological needs for his systems. He wanted his alarms and safeties up and running as soon as humanly possible, and he wanted to be able to keep track of everything going on in Gotham once more, so he would know how to plan his days and nights. It was important to be thorough, and purchase equipment from several different outlets to make the purchases seem inconspicuous to the retailers, enough variety to not raise red flags with the cave or Oracle.

It was still damp and chilly from the previous night's rain, so he had dressed warm, and kept his hood pulled over his head. It made his more abnormal purchases less unnerving, as he doubted anyone saw enough of his face to guess his age or make him memorable.

He took the time to acquire other useful items for future use while he was out as well. He had been able to locate a decent quality collapsible steel staff down in the China Basin, along with several antidotes available on the black market that had cost him a pretty penny, that of which he would be able to replicate at a later time. A purchase made that he had not thought about prior to discovering it had been an older model, yet highly reliable police scanner, quite the find. With it he would be able to keep track of Batman and Robin's nightly locations at the start of patrol and situate himself out of area accordingly. He would also be kept up to date with what the at large heavy hitters were up to, and know first thing when an inmate escape from Arkham or Blackgate took place. Very useful, in his opinion, considering that he was now out of the loop and unable to rely on Oracle's minute to minute reports.

After returning home for the last time after several hours of transporting goods, he plugged in the scanner and tuned it to the proper frequency, finding comfort in the constant rambling back noise the reports offered as he took to installing his alarms and locks. From the sound of things, Dick nearly had Gotham back to its previous condition of criminal activity, the sort that they had dealt with before Bruce had- _left_ them. Not perfect, as there would _never_ be such a thing, but daytime crime was back at its lowest, and it seemed as though the nightlife was far from being as horrendous as it had been when Dick had first begrudgingly taken up the mantle. An improvement for sure but Tim knew that Dick could never strike the fear into Gotham's heart the same way that Bruce had.

Installing the alarms was tedious, complex work, but a necessary task that at the very least took his mind off of the world around him. Wires, switches, and latches weaved around the inner frames of each window and his front door. Keypads were securely attached to all possible entrances and programmed to codes that made sense in his head alone. Cameras were installed outside the front door and all windows with feed linked to his laptop, the devices so small that you would have to _really_ be looking for them to locate them. He bolted the safe into floor at the far corner of his room and immediately emptied the briefcase's contents within it, securing it with a loud clank as the door snapped shut.

The sun had nearly set by the time Tim had left the vicinity of the safe with the intent to start piecing together his computer system within the office. He had barely left the room when the background chatter over the speakers became frantic shouts and gunfire. He frowned stepping back into the room, and sat down on the bed, turning the volume up to better understand the current situation.

_"Suspect at large!"_

" _I repeat, several casualties –"_

_"-does not have a vehicle, will be on foot in the area-"_

_"- appears to be an outside bust!"_

_"Backup requested-"_

_"- multiple parties injured, need medical assistance!"_

_"My god there's children-"_

_"-casualties were packing heat…"_

_"Batman in pursuit, stand down!"_

_"Civilians recovered report lone assailant in a red helmet-"_

_"I repeat, stand down!"_

The uproar over the frequency went on for nearly twenty minute before the reports began to die down. Tim waited, hoping to hear whether or not the 'suspect' was apprehended by _Batman_ , but he already knew the answer.

Jason Todd, the _Red Hood_ , had resurfaced at last, brutally ripping through a safe house filled with armed men to release multiple young children that had been awaiting a fate worse than death.

Tim sighed and let his shoulders slump.

In one respect, he was glad to confirm that Jason had survived his fall, as they all had suspected, but he had hoped that the man would have made an attempt to move on like everyone had apparently done.

So much for wishful thinking.

With a groan he lifted himself from the bed and left the room once more. Tonight he would set up his system and let the chaos induced by the Red Hood die down, let him wear Dick and Damian down some, but tomorrow night?

Tomorrow he would go on his first solo patrol.

Batman and Robin were going to be decently preoccupied for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that locations may not be entirely accurate in this fic. In searching for a proper map of Gotham City, I've come across at LEAST five different versions, all of which have a different layout. So I suppose it's all in the eyes of the writer. I keep 2 maps from different official sources, that are pretty similar as far as layout goes, open at a time to get a relative idea and jot things out from there. The only major difference between the two is locations of certain homes businesses and buildings. Other differences are minor. One shows streets and major locations, the other shows business and landmark locations.
> 
> This is the map I use for locations- bostinno(dotcom) /2012/02/26/ in-case-youre-ever-lost-in-gotham-city-this-map-should-help-map/gotham_city_map/ Just take out the spaces and replace the dotcom. I believe it to be the most accurate source for businesses/buildings/homes as it was taken from inside the comics. The other map is constructed the same way, but of giant file size. Provides district names, street names, some locations, and is colored to show what is street and what is water. I don't feel the need to provide the link as the differences in locations will confuse some people, and it's really only for my reference (that and I have no idea what the source for it is.)
> 
> Very helpful.
> 
> So if I've confused someone who knows a specific map, I'm sorry!


	6. Chapter 6

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Dick grumbled under his breath as he watched Alfred meticulously stitch the gaping wound on Damian's upper arm shut. The boy was unfazed, and sat through it without complaint, staring tiredly at the metal countertops lining the walls of the med bay. When the man finished his task, and left the vicinity to dispose of the mass of bloody cloth they had used to slow the blood flow, Damian turned his gaze toward Dick and rolled his eyes.

"It is merely a flesh wound. It will not hinder my ability to patrol, and will heal enough to not be bothersome within seventy-two hours. My tolerance for pain far surpasses that of your own. Such a minor injury was no reason to stop your pursuit of Todd to come fret over me, thus _letting_ him evade capture once again, something that is only going to cause more trouble at a later time." The boy huffed, and glowered menacingly at the man.

Dick sighed and shook his head sadly.

"I wasn't just going to run off and leave you bleeding on a rooftop, regardless of the severity of the injury, and chase him down. Besides, the chances of catching Jason single handedly, _without_ a premeditated plan laid out are incredibly slim, unless of course he _wants_ to be captured. Which was definitely not the case tonight as he so bluntly pointed out. He shot you on purpose. _Again_." He growled, blue eyes burning in frustration. "I don't understand how he can shoot a child and not bat an eye-"

"I am _not_ a child Grayson!" Damian snarled, dropping down from his perch upon the sterile table, stomping towards the man.

Dick's eyes softened.

"Unfortunately, regardless of how _mature_ you seem to think your mind is, or how you were raised, you are still a ten- nearly eleven year old _child_. Nothing is going to change that fact, so get over it, little brother."

Damian hissed and narrowed his eyes.

"Regardless… I still do not understand why anything Todd does never ceases to surprise you. He is a _traitor_ to this _family_ , and regards us _all_ as the enemy, regardless of age or upbringing. In our line of duty one cannot afford to take it easy on any opponent, regardless of age, relationship, health, or state of mind. Should at any time Pennyworth go rogue and turn against us, I would not hesitate to take the man out, while your sentiments would surely get in the way. I do not intend to insult by the way..." Damian paused, giving a curt nod to the man across the room.

Alfred chuckled and smiled as he made his way back towards the pair.

"I take no offense in that decision, Master Damian, none whatsoever. I would never wish any harm to come to _any_ of you boys, and if that was my intention, I would clearly not be of sound mind, and I give you full permission to do as you must to remove me as a threat."

"I do _not_ like where this conversation is going…" Dick groaned, casting a worried look at both Alfred and the boy. "Alfred is _never_ going to turn on us, and Damian, I don't _ever_ want to hear you talking about taking anyone out, especially Alfred, ever again…"

" _Tt_." The boy snorted in response.

Alfred could only sigh.

Damian huffed and exited the med bay heading towards the stairs, presumably to bathe in the large tub within the bathroom adjoined to his room, since he had yet to get himself clean since they had returned home due to his injuries. The boy was practically appalled at the idea of their communal shower down in the cave, and avoided it when at all possible. Dick hoped that after he was clean the boy would choose to get some sleep, but he wasn't holding his breath. After all, why should he expect something from a child that he himself could not manage?

Not for his lack of trying of course. With Tim on the mind, sleep did not come easy.

It did not help at all that Alfred had discovered a substantial decrease in the teen's bank account while they had been out on patrol. The bank of _course_ held no record of the balance change, and it had happened at random without alerting them, which was alarming. There was no telling how long ago Tim had re-routed the funds with his particular skill set.

The new knowledge had hit him hard as Alfred had rambled on while prepping Damian for his bullet removal and stitches. The sinking feeling in his gut had only grown. With money, Tim could have gone anywhere, anywhere at all across the globe. He could only hope and pray that he had decided to stay in Gotham, but at this point he wasn't so sure. One things was for certain though… he was not feeling so certain that Tim would return on his own any more.

With a groan, he shuffled into main chamber of the cave and made his way over to the computers, collapsing down into the large leather chair with a ragged exhale of breath. He stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, ignoring the various documents littering the expanse of it as he let his thoughts wander.

"Master Richard, I do hope that you will make an attempt at sleep shortly. I do not wish to find you slumped over the panel snoring again like I did yesterday morning." Alfred placed a worried gaze on him, and he squirmed slightly before him. "Not only is it worrisome that you are getting little to no rest, but I am not sure the controls can handle any more of your drool…" a small smile curled at the corner of the man's mouth.

"I'll… _try_. I can promise you that. But first, I'm going to make a quick call to Babs, see if she's seen anything new…" Dick trailed off, not daring to chance a glace behind him, knowing his resolve would crumble if he looked the elder man in the eyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian extended his arms backwards, stretching as he shook the water from his short spikes, and padded out the door into his bedroom. The bath had been soothing to his sore muscles and had given him uninterrupted alone time to get his thoughts in order.

 _Everything_ was chaos, and it was all _his_ fault, yes indeed... He would never forgive Tim Drake for abandoning Dick, if nothing else, as he had to have known what his absence would do to the man regardless of his state of mind. Despite his promises to keep his head in the game, Dick’s overly attached nature made it impossible for him to hold concentration on anything but the missing teen, and something would have to give. He would either get severely injured in his distraction, benching him for an extended amount of time to give him time to get his head screwed on straight proving disastrous for the city, or Drake would need to be located, for better or worse.

Judging by the efforts the teen was taking at covering his tracks and keeping under the radar, he could only fear the worst, that a _storm_ was coming. Past instances of Robins leaving the nest had rarely been success stories. Dick being the exception. Jason Todd had lost his life, only to return later as a vengeful, murderous traitor. Stephanie Brown had been tortured and murdered by Black Mask. He had little hope that Drake would fare any better. The odds were much too stacked against him.

Damian could only say one thing for sure…

If at any time on patrol he and Tim crossed paths, he would bring the boy home, using _any_ method necessary to get the job done. Past that, he was ready to keep him chained up in the cave like a dog if it gave Dick back his peace of mind, even if that meant putting up with the loathsome teen with his snide comments and utter lack of respect.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I'm worried. Scratch that, I'm _far_ _beyond_ worried Babs. It’s been way too long for him to just be blowing off steam. He's _not_ coming back." Dick drew in a deep breath and released it shakily as he ran a hand through his hair. "He's not coming back, and he's all alone, staying god only know where. I've failed him. I should have scoured the city looking for him the moment we knew he was gone. He could be _anywhere_. He could- he could be…"

Barbara grimaced and leaned closer to the screen with a sigh.

"Dick… I'm sure that he's just fine. He'll turn up eventually. No one is going to get the drop on that boy, and he’s not going to be found unless he wants to be. He's done a damned good job of staying out of view of my cameras thus far if he is even really still in the city at this point. You forget the _years_ he followed everyone around in his free time without once catching our attention. He needs time to himself, to get a grip on what's happened in his life, and to mourn. When he has had a long moment to catch ahold of reality, he'll turn up, I am sure of it."

Dick rubbed his temples.

"If you say so.” He muttered. “You didn't see him Babs. You _weren't_ there. He was distressed, reclusive, manic… Bruce's death was the final straw. He couldn't take it, and I should have been there for him, making sure everything was okay and that he felt safe. Instead, I made him even more uncomfortable, and then backed off, hoping he could handle things better if he had that alone time. But it only made him worse."

Barbara watched the man slump pitifully into the oversized chair, something Bruce fit into like a glove, with a small sad smile. Dick looked worn. The shadows under his eyes were so dark he looked as though he'd had them both blackened in a fight, and the man even looked as though he could be several pounds lighter than he had been last time they had talked. The combination of losing Bruce, becoming the Bat, and losing Tim was clearly taking a toll on the ex-bird.

"Take a breather. Make your way on over to the tower and have lunch with me. We can chat about random nothings, and I'll even let you take a nap, swaddled in blankets, snuggled up in my lap. How does that sound, hmm?" She smirked as a small grin inched its way onto Dicks face and he propped his head up with a hand.

"You _always_ know how to cheer me up, don't you Babs?" He chuckled softly at the screen.

" _Always_."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim grinned in sweet satisfaction for the first time in ages at the row of glowing screens as his system went online and came to life. Data flashed across the screens as it uploaded, and the dull electronic hum of the machinery gave off a low, consistent vibration. It made the apartment immediately feel more like home.

The plan was to hack into the cave's logs, as well as Oracle's surveillance system, so he could take advantage of all that he had had access to in the past. It was fortunate that at one time or another he himself had contributed to their system setups, and thus he could easily get in and link up without ever drawing attention to himself. Barbara would be none the wiser if he continuously hijacked her signals and Bat-files could be duplicated and integrated into his own system for future use. But that long process could wait for another time.

With a content sigh, Tim made his way to the kitchen, fully intending to consume some form of sustenance before heading out for the night. The distraction of hunger pains was not something he wished upon himself during confrontations that were sure to come. Such was the primary reason Alfred had always sent them out on patrol with sandwich bags on hand, at the very least, if they had managed to skip dinner.

For sentimental reasons, if nothing else, that was precisely what he made. He ate the French bread sub sandwich which consisted mostly of salad on bread, ravenously, making a mental note to remember to partake in such meals more often.

Tim left directly after sundown.

He shot a line from the roof of the complex directly onto the next lot over. He remained invisible in the shadows, and the surge of pride he felt at his choice of location was unavoidably strong. It was one thing to calculate the surroundings by sight alone, but the process of following through with plans, and them being successful was another. He landed gracefully without a sound and tugged the line free before bolting off into the darkness.

Batman and Robin seemed to be sticking to the downtown area for the night so clinging to the home turf of midtown sounded like a plan. It would allow him to come up with a local patrol route.

The kevlar weave fabric clung to his skin, and the bat-cape fluttered behind him as he leapt across the rooftops and bounced off the lamp posts. For the first time since Bruce had left them Tim felt _alive_. He had missed the rush of soaring through the city, the wind against his face- rushing through his hair as he defied gravity. He missed the joy of tumbling through midair flips simply because he _could_. It had not been that long since he had left the manor but it had been long enough of a leave from his duties for it to feel entirely new.

He laughed a joyous whoop as his foot collided with jaw bone during an attempted carjacking, his first act of heroism for the night, and he felt the surge of adrenalin as he took the man down. Zip-tying the man and dropping him with his legs bound in front of the nearest GCPD squad car had never felt so good, especially when the cop spilt his coffee at the sight of him, and gaped as he swung out of sight.

He ruffed up a few drug peddlers as he made his way through the city, confiscating their goods, and dangling them off rooftops attempting to make them see the errors of their ways. A few might take his words (and the dangling) to heart, but most would be back again tomorrow night, and he would not be so lenient then...

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dick could honestly say that the visit to Barbara's could not have come at a better time. She had followed through with her promise, feeding him almost immediately, all the while lecturing him about his slight weight loss and how she was going to have Alfred up his calorie intake.

He had relished in the human contact she had offered him, allowing him to lay curled up in her lap, all the while carding her slender hand through his hair talking about the good ol' days. He had fallen asleep sooner than he had liked but he had clearly needed it.

Barbara had let him sleep most of the day away curled up against her, and admittedly, Dick never slept as great as he did when pressed against another body when he was alone. It was times such as these he wished things hadn't gone south between the two of them, but he was thankful that they could still be so close despite everything.

She had woken him up barely an hour before patrol was to start, feeding him a quick meal before he met Damian back at the cave, and he spent the time suiting up with a grin plastered across his face. Alfred had clearly been able to see his rejuvenated energy as he did not fuss over him when they left shortly after his return.

Damian was in an even poorer mood than usual, if that was at all possible, and clearly _he_ had not gotten much sleep himself.

Even now as they leapt over roof tops and weaved through the city, the boy seemed in a particularly foul mood, and Dick could only shake his head and sigh.

Tonight would probably be one of those nights where he would be repeatedly calling ambulances and lecturing Robin about excessive force…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim panted as he leaned wearily against the gargoyle, perched in the shadows of the rooftop, clutching his side where he had been thrown into a protruding pipe by a particularly large thug with a serious case of roid-rage. The kevlar had held up to the challenge, but the muscles spasmed in protest, and he knew that the colorful bruise he would find underneath the armor when he returned home would be large and painful. He had eventually brought the man down, leaving him for the police to find once he was long gone, but the effort he had put into his first night out would definitely be felt in the coming days. Physically he would recover just fine. Mentally… things were _not_ as solid.

The night had started off pleasant, with Tim feeling like things were eventually going to be back to normal, but typical as in Gotham, that feeling had slowly changed as the night had progressed. Things were _not_ normal. The streets were more violent than they had ever been just months before. Petty criminals were simple enough, but the oddballs were flat out dangerous, and unrelenting. Several times he caught himself reaching for his nonexistent com, only to remember that he was flying solo, and truly alone. The realization that there was no one there, that he may _never_ have any sort of backup again, had set the gears rolling in his brain. He learned quickly that it was best that he not think about such things mid-attack.

It only resulted in very physical pain as he made clumsy mistakes.

Dick had done a good job containing the problem, but things were not the same, not nearly what they had been before Bruce’s absence.

Dick was _not_ Bruce. He did not strike the fear into Gotham's underworld like their mentor- their _father_ , had been able to.

Maintenance…

The way Batman and family functioned was maintenance, and without Bruce, the only _true_ Batman, that maintenance was faulty at best. The criminals ran amuck. They acknowledged Batman's existence. Many still ran scared; others thought that Batman was slowly giving up. Dick could only play the part so well. He was not the Robin who had gotten by solely by pretending to be everything he was not, simply because he had to, to make the world right. He was the Boy Wonder, the one who had been relatively carefree, despite constant chaos. Dick was _not_ Tim. He could not force himself to play the part, to pretend at perfection, at the cost of his sense of self.

Bruce had his own special sort of insanity, and Dick Grayson was not one who could sacrifice his own identity to take on the persona of man who was essentially his own unique functional case of bi-polar.

Tim had sacrificed everything to become Robin, a position he had never asked for, nor imagined wanting. He became Robin because Dick refused to step up to the plate and put his conflictions in the past. Became Robin because Dick had thrown him under the bus, making Bruce consider him, all without ever asking Tim if that was what he himself had wanted. Tim had put on the suit expecting it to be a one-time deal, a way to show Bruce exactly what he needed, to show Dick that Bruce actually needed it, while rescuing the two stubborn men from certain doom. He had only been half successful. Alfred and he had prevented their demise, and Dick recognized the problem, solved it…by volunteering him. Batman needed a Robin, and if Dick was not going to be that Robin, what choice had he really had?

If Dick refused to return, who else would do it? Surely no one but he could have made things right. He knew how the dynamic duo was supposed to work. He was well aware of Bruce's rules, was familiar with his gear, and he knew quite well how both the Bat and Bruce Wayne's emotions worked. He knew exactly where the grapples stuck best, the best shadows to lurk in, and was well versed in the patrol routes and problem areas just from his days tracking them. He had known about Jason and precisely what the boy's death had done to the man he sought to help.

Tim was perfect for the job, the next best thing to Dick, and when Tim had taken the few brief moments he had to think about his options, he had known that it was something he _could_ do.

He could play that role, give Bruce back the small scraps of normalcy and sanity that he had had prior to Jason's death, and he could make a difference. In doing so, he also wouldn't have to be himself any longer, he could just be Robin.

He had _never_ wanted to replace Jason. Jason had been far too unique of a human being, special in his own way, torn between his need to make a difference in the world, his own beliefs, and the love for the one adult in his life that hadn't betrayed him or made life filled with fears.

No, he had never intended to be Jason's replacement, just wanted to replace _himself_ … and he had.

He never let Bruce or Dick see him as he had been prior to that night. He slipped right into Robin like a second skin, and let him take over, let himself become everything that Batman had wanted, _needed_ , in one short night.

Gone was the timid Timothy Jackson Drake that was used to being invisible, that stayed holed up in his house alone whilst his parents were out living their lives traveling across the globe for business and pleasure without him. Gone were the days where he would flit across rooftops just to watch and capture the perfection that was Batman and Robin. He wiped the awkwardness and self-loathing from his person, and shifted the need to be perfect for his parents in hopes they would acknowledge him and bring him along, to the need to be flawless for Bruce.

He lived on praise, and took criticism to heart, ever improving. He relished in the knowledge that the com-links were always on, that he was never truly alone, even if they were all silent. It had worked for him. He had bought his own hype.

And now?

Now he realized why things were so wrong, why it was so difficult to accept recent events, and acclimate to his new situation.

When Bruce- _Batman_ , had left them, he had taken Robin with. Left Tim with nothing but himself, someone he had eagerly tried to erase from existence four years ago. Without Batman, there was no Robin, and the illusion he had created for himself had dissipated, leaving him feeling empty. He had regressed back to Timothy Jackson Drake, with his awkwardness, paranoia, lack of confidence, self-loathing, and seclusion. The fact that Dick had been unable to stand him in his true form had been unbearable. The shear shock that he could take Tim and replace him at the drop of a dime with Damian, who was somehow more desirable and trustworthy than him, was baffling. Damian, who had been born and raised an assassin, had killed a countless number of people, and had flat out sough to kill him in the beginning simply because he had insulted him, mostly by _existing_.

The realization that Jason had been right, known all along that he was a fake- a _Replacement_ , a _Pretender_ , was unnerving.

He felt exposed.

Things would _never_ be okay. He was seeing that now. They would never go back to normal. He could not go back to the manor, he couldn't be in the company of his old frie- _comrades_ , he no longer had a _home_ of his own nor his mostly absent parents, and without the safety net of his Robin persona, patrol made him a bundle of nerves… unconfident in his movements, and without the reassuring voice of reason in his ear he no longer felt naturally safe.

This was what he had been reduced to and it had taken a _single_ solo patrol outside of his comfort zone to put his life's perspective on the ground before him.

The realization hurt deep within his chest and radiated through his shaking form. He sunk to the ground, back flesh against the statue, and pulled his knees to his chest breathing heavily as he attempted to get a grip on himself.

For the first time in years, he felt small, and insignificant. Terrified like he had been of heights back before he had mustered up the courage and nerve to follow the Bat and Bird into the sky for those perfect shots.

It wasn't something he was sure he could handle or come back from. But he had nothing left to do but try. Existing prior to becoming Robin had _not_ killed him. There was no reason for it to do so this time.

It would be a long stressful road ahead of him as he built himself back up from the ground. He only hoped he could manage it on his own…

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! At least it wasn't as long as last time.
> 
> A few bits of this chapter were a bit difficult to write for whatever reason, but in the end it turned out fine.
> 
> If you want to know when updates will happen, you're more than welcome to follow me on tumblr where I talk about my fics frequently among other things and I post fic art for my own fics as well as some other authors'.
> 
> vampykitty-kun. tumblr. Com (just take out the spaces)
> 
> Enjoy! There is also fic-art at the end :D

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim lay on the roof of his building, staring up at the smoggy night sky, completely at a loss of what to do with himself as is. Truth be told, it had been a _very_ long time since he had last been 'alone' making his own decisions, and honestly, it had just been so much easier having someone telling him what to do. He had relished in being a follower, in not having to carry the weight of his world on his shoulders, and now that he was making decisions for himself he was not nearly so confident in his choices.

He did not regret leaving. Not at all… things would have only become substantially worse had he stuck around and waited for Dick to make his move. But he _was_ terrified that he was going to fail.

Quite bluntly, he missed Bruce… painfully so.

He might have come into the man's life in a very unorthodox fashion, all to save him from slowly but surely killing himself, but in actuality… he had done a _lot_ to save Tim as well. He just neglected to see that until now. Before Bruce, he had been bored, lonely, and had lacked confidence. Even though he had also lost so much in the long run it had made him a better person.

And now he was struggling to keep it together.

He let out a shaky, ragged sigh, and covered his face with his hands. After a long moment, he slowly pried the black domino from his face, and rubbed at his tired eyes. He curled onto his side, and ran his fingertips lightly over his stomach and ribs, cringing as pain spasmed across the length of him over the expanse of the injury.

What he wouldn't give to have the medication available back down in the cave right then…

With a soft groan he pushed himself up onto his knees, shakily rose to his feet, and shuffled over to the edge of the fire escape to make it down to his window. He punched in his key code, and wrenched the widow open, slipping inside carefully to avoid moving the wrong way.

Tim glanced around the semi-bare apartment, and slumped, breathing in deeply as he made his way towards the bathroom. Once there he stared at himself in the thin floor length mirror as he slowly pried the suit from his body, letting cape and all crumple to the tile floor as he blanched, surveying the damage.

He hissed, turning slowly, examining the purple/black tie-dye that had become his side. He grimaced, running his hand over the expanse of heated flesh that reached from the start of his hip on up five or six inches, with a particularly angry area dead center of the discoloration. He would be hurting for days with this one…

He took in the rest of his body hesitantly, cringing at how dark the circles surrounding his eyes were becoming, how pale he was from being indoors so long as of late, and how his ribs were starting to become overly visible from not eating quit properly enough while exerting himself so much. Alfred would have had a conniption fit…

Shaking his head he stepped away from the pile of fabric at his feet and stepped into the tub, turning the shower on full blast, fully intending to wash the night's worth of grime from his body before making an attempt at rest.

Tim stood under the hot spray until the ache in his shoulders faded and the water ran clear of soap. When he finally forced himself to leave the warmth, he wrapped himself in a towel, and made his way into the kitchen where he packed himself an ice bag before retreating to his room. He turned the lights off and pulled a pair of loose pajama pants on before sliding beneath the covers and curling in on himself. Tim pressed the bag of ice gingerly to his side and groaned, burying his face into the pillows, breathing heavily.

Sleep would be hell.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian had begun drugging him, Dick had noticed… He could not be angry, because the child knew what he was doing (the boy's knowledge of medicinal herbs and poisons never ceased to amaze him), and he really had his heart in the right place- _mostly_ , but that did not stop it from unnerving him.

He had been sleeping longer hours as of late, and any dreams that he had had (if any) had been uneventful, allowing him a nice relaxing slumber, instead of a fitful nightmare filled one.

He had consulted Alfred on the matter, only to be informed that Damian had flat out told the man what he was doing, meaning he had not been drugging his food without supervision. That made it somewhat okay he supposed, as anything Alfred approved would clearly be safe, and he was always awake well before patrol started.

The unnerving part was that the child had felt the _need_ to do such a thing in the first place.

He made a point of speaking to Barbara every other day now since their little sleep over. She managed to always put him in a good mood and ease his anxieties away. Admittedly, going on patrol in a stress free mood had been improving his performance, and that combined with the decent amount of sleep he had been getting had Damian less on his case, something he was grateful for, and Dick was no stranger to picking his battles. He would give them this one.

Barbara had still been unable to catch any sight of Tim in her feeds. At this point, Dick was sincerely beginning to doubt that the teen was still within city limits, which meant that no one was going to find him until he really wanted to be found.

 _If_ he wanted to be found.

Dick was not giving up, not at all, but presently it seemed as though there was nothing he could do but wait.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim spent the next few days training, resting his injured side, and planning out his next course of action. From that single patrol, he could tell that he was _not_ yet ready to be going out alone, at least when it came to taking down heavy hitters. He would have to learn his immediate area just as well as he had known Batman's patrol route before he could trust himself to not become overwhelmed again.

The silence that had become his life was deafening. He left the police scanner on at all times other than when he slept just to hear conversation, and despite the anger he felt towards them, it was comforting to hear the police speak of Batman's ordeals as it served to remind him that the life he had once had truly existed.

At times, he chanced a trip to a coffee shop in the daytime, careful to disguise himself in the off chance that Dick had set Barbara loose upon him. Despite the constant worry that someone would show up suddenly, these shop sit-ins were relaxing, and he was comforted by the company even if no one was addressing him.

Years ago when he had still been living in his parents' home he had wandered the city whenever he had not been in school. He was simply not used to complete and utter solitude.

He spent his nights roaming the area, memorizing every square inch, every hideaway, and each darkened alley. Along the way, he did occasionally stop criminals he caught in the act, but nothing large seemed to be going down locally, and that was something he greatly appreciated.

Sleep was something like a job now. It only occurred when he dozed off at random, or when he could no longer see straight, and it never lasted long before he awoke fitfully with his heart hammering in his chest.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Tim sat curled in a ball up near his headboard, knees drawn to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, head tucked down as he gripped at himself tightly. The nightmares had turned to warping past events to terrorize him.

He had dreamt of Damian showing up to take over the position of Robin shortly after Jason's death, making it so he had never had to step in as Robin, and he had carried on with his previous life. Yet shortly after, his nighttime activities had been found out by the tiny assassin, and he had watched his childhood home burn along with everything in it.

Including himself.

Of course other nightmares, the ones that he had frequently including on this night, need not re-write history. These brought up bad and tragic memories involving his parents, his friends, and Jason. Nothing but endless, needless, death and horror.

He did not even noticed when his arms began to bleed, little crescent marks from his nails marring his pale skin…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Damian was smug and he was _not_ afraid to show it.

In the end he had won. Dick's performance rate had shot right back up after he had started sleeping more, _dreamlessly_ , and he had things preoccupying his mind other than one Tim Drake.

He was far from being perfect but it would do.

Damian was convinced that Tim was _not_ coming back, that he had left the city, and would be out of their hair for good. It was a pleasant feeling. In time, Dick would move on entirely, and the foolish teen would be nothing more than a lingering thought in the darkest corners of the man's mind.

Admittedly, he had been rather surprised when Alfred had immediately, without question, allowed him to drug the man's food. He had not scolded him, had not forbidden it, and had even gone as far as asking him what he was concocting, what the ingredients were, how it worked, the possible side effects, and had then after his explanation assisted him in concealing the herbs from view and taste.

He had concluded right there that the old man was intelligent, reasonable, _sneaky_ , and overall a worthy member of the family.

Not that he would admit it if asked of course…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim had left to patrol hours earlier and had been scouring the city, mapping it out mentally as he weaved in and out of alleyways, and between rooftops. His part of town was relatively quiet, compared to Downtown and the Narrows, but that suited him just fine where he stood currently. He had stopped a few attempted muggings along his way, even thwarted yet another carjacking some fifteen minutes ago, and had helped a woman with a baby that had decided to leave her assumedly abusive husband get to a woman's shelter mere minutes ago, and was now doubling back for a second look.

He heard the shrill screaming just as he passed over an alleyway, nearly tumbling on his roof landing as he spun to look down. It took a moment to spot the source of the disruption, but when he did it floored him.

A heavy set man had a child backed into a corner, a little boy, perhaps eight or nine, and was beating upon him as he shouted obscenities. The child was able to do little more than screech and sob as he made poor attempts at blocking the man's blows. He watched in horror as the man paused in his assault to grab a wood slab off the alley floor, which he raised above his head. The child pled frantically with the man, revealing him to be the boy's father, before the man swung downward.

Tim was moving before he even realized it, and collided feet first into the man's back, sending him face first into the brick wall of the building across from them, all before the man could make contact with the little boy. The child wailed, sinking to the ground in a curled up heap as Tim launched himself back at the man, planting his fist into his face. He saw red. The stress, hurt, and pent up anger acquired over the past several weeks erupted within, and Tim let out a feral snarl as his fists connected with the bulky form repeatedly. In the back of his mind he faintly registered the sickening cracks and screams echoing from the body beneath him, but he did not stop, not until the beast below him became silent besides gasping breaths.

Tim eventually stilled, and sat panting before the crumpled mass, urging the adrenalin spike to cease. After a moment, he shakily reached out, checking for the man's pulse. He did not even recognize the strangled whine echoing in the alleyway as his own when the irregular beat faintly registered under his fingertips. By then, his body was vibrating as he checked the small boy over carefully, mumbling in a poor attempt to console the child.

He reached over and searched the man briefly, before retrieving a beat up cell phone from the man's jean pocket, and flipped it open. He dialed 911, the first time he had ever had to use the civilian number, and waited patiently until a woman addressed him.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

"Midtown, dead-end alleyway of 5th and Hotir. Aggravated assault on a minor, aged around eight or nine years old. Assailant is the boy's father. Perpetrator has been subdued and is need of immediate medical attention. The child has a few minor contusions, as well as a plethora of bruising, and it would be wise to check him over for fractures, particularly ribs, scapula and clavicle."

 _"Sir, who are you?"_ The woman urged over the line.

"I- I'm not really sure anymore…" He answered truthfully, giving a sad, weak laugh.

 _"Sir, I'm going to have to ask your name-"_  
  
"And I'm afraid that I can't answer that ma'am. 5th and Hotir. I'm already gone." With that Tim snapped the phone shut, and tossed it onto the man before giving one last weary glance at the child, and bolting for the rooftops.

He vacated the scene quickly, and stopped once he was several streets down, waiting for the sirens to approach and make it to the scene. It was only after he paused under the range of a street light that he was able to see the blood streaked and speckled across his suit front and arms. He gave an involuntary shudder as he stared down at his hands and his stomach flipped.

It had been too much.

He had gotten carried away.

And yet… he still felt that the man had _deserved_ it, and that thought alone had him emptying the contents of his stomach upon the rooftop.

Afterwards, patrol was no longer possible.

He made his way towards home, utterly disgusted with himself, racing across the rooftops.

A half hour later, Tim climbed through his window, breathing heavily, with his heart racing even still. He secured the gas shut behind him and made his way straight through the house, stripping as he went, until he arrived in the bathroom. He threw the shower on full blast and slid himself under the blazing heat, rinsing his face frantically before he began scrubbing at his body. The water was scalding hot, but he did not care, he was only concerned about washing away what little blood had seeped through the suit. The fact that it and seeped through at all let him know just how badly he had snapped.

Tim sunk to his knees, breathing in deep gulping breaths as the water beat down upon his body, shaking despite the heat.

He felt so very _lost_ …

It was not until all the heat had left the old pipes, and freezing drops pelted down his back, that he left the shower and confines of the bathroom.

Tim could not say how many hours after it had taken to scrub the bloodstains out of his suit but he surely did not sleep that night…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After the previous night's ordeal, Tim had intended to waste away in bed all day and night, alone with his thoughts and the crackling droning of the police scanner lingering in the background. He was still shaken up, disappointed that he could lose himself so easily in the middle of an encounter, sickened by his lack of restraint and empathy in regards to the man he had sent to the emergency room.

But it clearly wasn't in the stars for him that night.

Batman and Robin had been dealing with a bomb threat down in the Tricorner yards with Gordon that had gone south. The threat had been valid, and the organization in charge was putting up quite the fire-fight.

Basically, they would be pre-occupied at least half the night subduing, and chasing down every last participant.

That was how Tim found himself racing to suit up and make his way to the Downtown docks at the crossing of York and Oliver.

The frantic dispatch had come in over the radio alerting the force to a mass robbery going on in one of the large dock-side warehouses. Contents of the warehouse included, but were not limited to museum pieces, military supplies, and aircraft parts.

Tim would not have bothered with such a crime so soon, but with most of the police's forces, and Batman and Robin all at the Tricorner, there was a good chance that the perpetrators would be gone with their stolen loot by the time anyone got to the scene. But that wasn't what had thrown Tim into action. Not at all. What had him rushing to scene as fast as he could swing was the identity of the head of the heist.

Harley Quinn had staged the entire thing and had plenty of Joker goons on sight along with her as she brought chaos down upon the warehouse district. With the Joker being MIA as of late, even as far as Quinn was concerned, no one had heard a peep out of her in months. Clearly that was no longer the case.

Tim could only assume that Harley had been keeping tabs on Batman and Robin just as he had and had chosen to pull off such an event on a night where it would be impossible for the duo to intervene and foil her plans.

Which was precisely why she was shocked when _he_ came barreling down from the rafters on his cable, slamming himself into the men positioned beneath him, before they really knew what hit them. She screeched in terror as the cape billowed around him, and shouted to her crew to attack, making a break for it herself.

He threw himself into the battle, kicking and spinning, leaping and dodging as bullets ricocheted off the cement floors, and fists came flying at him. Although he was greatly outnumbered, Joker thugs were never the brightest henchmen, and he was easily able to evade their flailing and poor aim as he took them down one by one.

He eventually spotted Harley lurking up above on the platform of the second level, watching the scene play out before her, hoping that one of them would get a lucky shot in and remove him as a threat. He grunted, slamming his shoulder into the man in front of him before face planting him into the cement, and zip stripping him. The next goon was throwing himself into his back before he could pay much attention elsewhere. All the same he called out to her.

"What is the point of this Harley?" He snarled, whipping his staff out to catch the bulky man in the knees, sweeping him off his feet.

Harley cocked her head, staring at him curiously for a fleeting moment, before she laughed heartily and leaned over the railing from her position up above.

"Aww _Bird-boy_ , it's good ta see ya! The only one anyone's seen lately is the li’l brat!" she giggled. "People think ya bit the big one. Almost didn't recognize ya. Diggin' the new duds!"

" _Harley!"_

"Yeah, yeah… no biggie really! Just 'cause Mistah J's outta town at the moment doesn't mean Harley can't have a bit of fun does it? Girl's gotta get by. Got babies to feed at home, when they don't eat they get cranky, and boy can they sure pack it away!" She tittered, until she saw that anyone who had been left standing was currently bolting for the door, and that Tim was launching a grapple in her general direction.

She squeaked and ran for it, bolting across the platform as fast as her legs would carry her, eyes flitting about in search of an escape. Unfortunately for her, she was _not_ fast enough, not by a long shot.

Tim flipped over the railing and raced after her while pulling a bola from the back of his belt. He whipped it forward, snapping it up around her legs, never once pausing. As he had expected, she tumbled, skidding across the platform in heap with her legs clasped together. It did not keep her down long however and she promptly sliced through the rope binding her legs. It might not have been much, but it gave him enough time to catch up with the woman, and give her little chance to evade him.

Harley was up on her feet within seconds, and after determining that she could no longer run at this point, she flipped forward swinging at him, and dove between his legs. He flipped himself backwards, grabbing at her leg as he landed, forcing her to stop her escape once again otherwise risk injuring herself. She let up only long enough to wrench her leg back before she was wailing upon him once more, and they exchanged heavy blows as they danced, knocking into each other brutally as the clashed.

Despite wearing little more than spandex and ruffles Harley could more than take a hit.

Perhaps all the time spent with the Joker had upped her pain tolerance? Not something he particularly wanted to think about…

It was then that things happened before he could even realize what he was doing…

Harley bolted to the side, cartwheeling alongside him, in effort to dodge and escape him. He spun with her, moving forward as he went, and whipped his staff out to catch her. It slammed her full force in the abdomen, knocking the air from her lungs with a startled gasp, which soon turned into a terrified screech. Her ankle twisted at the force, the leg buckling beneath her, and she slammed backwards into the rusted railing. Tim's eyes widened beneath his domino as the metal gave way with a sickening crack and Harley went with it.

He lunged forward frantically, just barely managing to catch hold of her ankle as she fell towards the ground level far below, and he landed awkwardly. A sickening pop echoed from his right and he back a yelp as the shoulder dislocated. From their current height, if she hit the cement floor directly, she would easily break her neck if not _die_ on impact.

The blonde screamed as she dangled below him, pleading with him not to drop her, to get her to safety, and Tim grimaced at the stabbing throb in his shoulder as her weight pulled at his tendons. He watched as she flailed, scrambling to get a handhold on something, _anything_ to drag herself up with. The jester hood slipped backwards off her head, spilling disheveled blonde hair about her face, and the pigtails beneath fluttered about.

He groaned, teeth locked on his lower lip as he tested the strength of the nearest platform beam, and slowly but surely, he latched his foot behind it. He braced himself with his free hand, and wrenched his arm up inch by inch, the muscles straining in protest at the awkward angle and unhinged socket. Harley stilled briefly, staring up at him with wild eyes, before she kicked up with her other leg, allowing Tim to grab hold. His chest slammed into the platform roughly without the free hand to prop him up, and the air left his lungs with a sharp gasp, the side injury from the week before jolting in protest adding to the pain spasming through his body. He threw his strength back into his legs using them to hoist them back up over the ledge slowly but surely.

After what seemed like an eternity, Tim managed to drag the woman up over the ledge, and they both collapsed backwards in a heap as they panted heavily. The muscles in Tim's shoulders spasmed at the release and he reached up shakily to pop his arm back into place. He gasped as the socket gave another audible click, stars danced before his vision, and he rubbed the arm gingerly as much of the stabbing pain subsided with its return to position. The blood rushed from his head back into the rest of his body and the odd sense of vertigo slowly slipped away.

The two lay there for some time, silent other than their ragged breathing, until the sirens could clearly be heard approaching at rapid speed. Harley let out a startled whimper and sat up, wincing as she rolled her ankle, then failed to stand thereafter. With much determination, Tim pulled himself upright, dragging himself to his feet, and he wobbled slightly as he moved to stand before the blonde.

Much to her shock he reached a hand out to her.

She stared up at him awkwardly, letting out a shaky laugh before clasping her dainty hand around his, and used him to pull herself up with her good leg. She stumbled once level, testing her weight on the battered ankle, and sighed when it decided to mostly hold her weight.

Tim suddenly felt sick, and swayed on the spot, body vibrating as he breathed in deep gulps of air.

_He could have killed her._

For the second time in two days he had over done it.

She watched him wearily and groaned as the sirens got ever closer. With a sigh, she reached up and pulled her hood back over her head, a few straw colored strands poking out around her face that she didn’t bother to tuck back in.

"I suppose you’re gonna take me in, huh bird boy?" she murmured, adjusting one of the cuffs on her wrist.

When Tim gave no response, she tilted her head, and met his gaze.

The teen only shook his head and stood there trembling whilst trying to catch his bearings.

Her blue eyes widened at this, and she stared silently, looking him over. It was only then that she realized just how much he had changed over the last few months and not just in costume. He looked tired- _worn_. The boy had lost weight, not too much, but enough to be noticeable, and he genuinely looked terrified at present, even with the mask on. The sudden realization that the boy had barely spoken throughout the entire ordeal compared to the usual banter and was now seemingly letting her go free after her near death experience had the dread seeping up into her chest.

Something was _very_ wrong.

Past the original Bat being gone.

She knew the signs, and as much as she _knew_ that she shouldn't care in the slightest, quite suddenly she did.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she stepped back towards him.

Years of psychiatric training had never quite left her mind. It had been a part of her for so long, far longer than 'Harley Quinn' had been, and she found those old emotions surfacing as she stared at the listless boy before her.

"You okay kid?" She murmured, reaching out towards him with a shaky gloved hand.

He flinched as she addressed him, but did not respond, only continued to stare ahead of himself blankly, lost in his own thoughts as he worked through the panic attack.

Harley swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and closed the distance between the two of them, gently brushing her gloved hand across his cheek. He shuddered, but did not protest at the action, did not pull away. She paused hesitantly, hoping for some sort of negative reaction that would prompt reigning herself back it, before she slid a finger under the edge of his mask, and gently pried it up.

Tim's breath hitched in his throat as she worked her way around the edges, carefully slipping under the adhesive, and stiffened as she pulled the domino away from his eyes.

The two locked eyes, both searching, seemingly simultaneously asking _'why'_?

_Why was she of all people suddenly worried for him?_

_Why was he letting her go free?_

And neither could answer truthfully for they honestly did not know themselves.

Without explanation, Harley suddenly moved closer, and wrapped her arms up around him, squeezing him tightly. Tim whined in the back of his throat at this action, and it only made her hold him tighter.

"Whatever it is Bird-boy, it'll get better." She murmured, rubbing his back. "Always does hun…"

He slumped against her, breathing raggedly as her fingers coursed up and down his back, and she sighed worriedly.

With one last quick squeeze, she pulled away, stuffing the domino into his hand, before dashing off through the warehouse to make her escape.

Tim drew in a sharp breath and pressed the mask back to his face suppressing a shudder before he too made his way through the building. As he exited through the roof, he could see the squad cars arriving as he leapt away, and he paid them little mind as he made his way back through the city.

Harley had seen his face… and he could not bring himself to care. He had relished in those brief few seconds of human contact, even if it had been someone he should consider highly dangerous just by who she associated with. That was what he had been reduced to.

He should be terrified of the complications this could bring. But somehow he felt sure that she would not be a problem. But only time would tell.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harley breathed in a sigh of relief as she pried open her front door and stepped into her living room. She let the door shut with a slam as she hobbled over to the couch and smiled as the clunky hyenas came skidding into the room. She tossed the hood from her head, pried her mask off, and wiped away the majority of the make-up before burying her face in Lou’s course fur. The two dogs yipped and nudged at her, and she smiled, genuinely glad to be back in the safety of her home.

It had been quite the rough night. She honestly wondered if she was losing her edge.

She rolled her tender ankle slowly, letting a hiss escape her lips as it twinged, and groaned.

“Only me…”

She would ice it before going to bed but for the time being she wasn’t moving from the couch for anything.

She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, a curious look upon her face as she let her thoughts wandered, and she chewed her lip as Bud and Lou climbed up beside her.

Gotham was changing. Things were different with the new Batman, and although she was pretty sure that she was one of the few people that realized the definite switch, she wasn’t the only one. A few would be taking advantage of that. The new Robin was a beastly little hellion, dangerous, and unrelenting. The old Robin- who she had no idea what he was calling himself these days, was traumatized from something that had happened as of late and quite the ticking time bomb if she had an opinion on the matter.

It bugged her and it really shouldn’t. A result of his unwillingness to take her in after he had nearly _accidentally_ killed her she was sure. But even so, he had entrusted her in a lot by letting her see his face, even if he was in a bad place at the time, and having a bit of a freak out.

He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

She sure wasn’t going to be telling that story to anyone any time soon though… would put a big target on her head as well as his.

She groaned and leaned back, falling against Bud’s side, and she cured into the tawny fur.

Only she could manage to get herself into such a position.

She needed another vacation…

  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT AUTHOR NOTE!!!
> 
> Well, sorry for the wait!
> 
> This chapter has been in the making or quite a long time. I apologize for the massive gap between updates, but at the very least it was with purpose!
> 
> Before reading this chapter I urge EVERYONE who hasn’t already to re-read chapters 1-7. 
> 
> Why?
> 
> Because I went back through them and updated them! There is some new material, minor changes, and a few things I chose to leave out. Chapter lengths got longer and overall it’s better written. That was the hold up. I wasn’t entirely happy with what had been written and felt that I needed to tweak it before moving on. 
> 
> So, to get caught up with any of the additions, AND as a refresher, please go back and read. You won’t regret it!  
> Other than that, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Future chapters won’t be as beastly long as before, but at least updates should happen much more quickly now.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

He could not remember getting home.

He woke splayed across the mattress, miserable, achy, and still unnaturally tired even though he must have slept a rather long time considering that it was now past noon. His shoulder felt useless, the muscles too bruised, the tendons too angry to be of much use after the dislocation the night before.

He had felt so strong, so self-sufficient despite the hiccups he had encountered since leaving, but the incident with Harley and her goons had slapped reality in his face… he could _not_ do this alone. Not now at least.

It wasn’t so much that he was incapable of physically patrolling on his own, taking out the bad guys, rescuing those in need, but it _was_ mental. He had not been alone for a very long time. He was incapable of adjusting to the loneliness while his life was in shambles with no sure sign that things would ever pick up. Just _faith_. He was not Bruce- nor Jason for that matter. He could not simply just hide in the shadows and do things on his own while keeping his head on his shoulders.

He made far too many mistakes. Got distracted and careless. It messed with his nerves.

He had almost _killed_ Harley. Of all the criminals in Gotham he had almost caused the demise of a woman that was next to harmless when compared to the Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, or Zsas. Had his grip slipped… he would have _never_ have been able to forgive himself. It would have been the straw to break the camel’s back.

He could not live like this. He wasn’t ready for it, not by a long shot, but at the same time he knew he could not just go home, subject himself to whatever Dick had had planned, nor would he be able to stand _Damian_ or the verbal abuse that he was incapable of handling at the moment.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He never made it out of bed that afternoon.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_“Be my Robin?”_

_He remembers it vividly, thought about the man’s proposal often in the days that had followed, as he had sat there with bandages wrapped around his sternum. It was _déjà vu_ , happening all over again as he panted, unable to breath, as the man towered over him with a boot on his chest pinning him down._

_It was the same- yet not… no cowl, no cape, just leather and kevlar and a face smirking down at him with eyes hidden behind a crimson domino._

_The questioned echoed at the back of his mind and he couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat at hearing those words. He had turned the man down last time, violently, but now? He was incapable of speaking. His throat closed, his chest heaved, and even though he knew how unstable and mentally unbalanced Jason was while having given that offer he realized with a crashing jolt that he was **wanted**. No matter what the circumstances. All he had to do was take the outstretched hand before him…_

His eyes snapped open and he heaved in a sharp breath as he flung himself upward away from the pillows.

His chest heaved as he struggled to breath, and he felt incredibly cold…The dream had seemed so real. He could almost still smell the leather and gun powder. It shook him up, more than it should have, and he clutched at his thighs as he let reality wash back over him.

He felt sick, stomach protesting at his worry and fright, and leaned forward, hanging his head in his lap.

He could _not_ go home to the manor- to Alfred, Dick, and Damian. He couldn’t pick up the pieces of his fractured life and repair it. All his could do was form a new one and get on with his existence in a somewhat dignified manner. If he could not do it alone… _well_ …

Jason’s offer from that horrible night kept playing over and over in his mind.

He had been in a bad place. They _both_ had. Jason had been unusually psychotic during that time, no doubt brought on by the stress and hurt of Bruce departure, and triggered by the man’s message to him. Asking him to be his Robin was not something Jason would do on an average day, he knew that much, that he had to have been impossibly lonely- just like Tim was at the present, and that he had needed someone to talk to, to vent on, possibly even make feel as miserably as he had been at the time.

At the present he felt as though he could understand that better than he had at the time. It had been for the best, turning the man down then, because with both of their minds sets it would have only been a downward spiral.

But now?

From the police reports it sounded as though Jason had his head relatively screwed on straight, and Tim needed someone, _anyone_ to reel him back in, even if that meant the Red Hood.

If the man was willing to accept his presence, be the slightest bit civil, he was sure that it would help him in the long run, and perhaps with time he would be able to tone down the man’s methods, save a few lives…

And if all else failed? Well… he had a feeling that it wouldn’t take much to get Jason riled up enough to put him out of his misery.

He didn’t want to think about that though…

He was not willing to give up yet.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He stayed indoors nursing his injuries, too spooked to go out and patrol, and to sore to be of much use regardless. He tinkered with his computers, passed the time making his final touches on his systems as he waited patiently for the police scanner to catch wind of the Hood.

To his dismay, it seemed as though Jason was laying low once more, biding his time after the confrontation with Dick and Damian the other night.

He honestly wondered what the man had thought… running across Damian instead of _him_ in the suit. Had he gotten angry? Appalled that Dick would let a ten year old out into the cruel streets of Gotham as Robin? He Jason thought about him? Did he wonder what had happened… or did he already know? Was he aware that he had been booted out, _forced_ to step down, hurtfully replaced whist he was still very much alive and willing? Or did he assume that he had just left of his own free will, discarding the mantle of Robin as Dick once had, and had moved on?

It made his stomach flop thinking about it.

It was a horrible idea, seeking Jason out, he wasn’t stupid… it was not very long ago that the man had gone on a killing spree that ended with him getting stabbed in the sternum with a rusted batarang and Dick picking up the mantle. But even still, he had hope… it was all he had left to try.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Things got worse as the week progressed with no sign of the Red Hood anywhere.

All of Tim’s leads came up empty. The man was completely off grid, and there was nothing he could do but wait…

He was _tired_ of waiting.

He felt like he had been run down with a steam roller. His body ached from injuries that were not healing as quickly as they should have. For the life of him he could not sleep. His head was pounding, his stomach just refused to comply with his wishes, and it was disheartening.

How had he come to be so useless?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim awoke dazed, completely unsure of his surroundings as he lifted himself up off of the floor, and he could honestly not understand how or _when_ he had ended up face down in the hall leading to his room. Understandably, it was frightening, more so when his legs shook beneath him and he was forced to cling to the wall for support to stand.

He fought back the dizziness and nausea as he worked himself along the wall and stumbled into the bathroom. He collapsed onto the closed lid of the toilet and rummaged through a drawer deliriously as he fumbled around for the thermometer. There was no sigh of relief as he jammed it beneath his tongue and pressed his face against the cool edge of the sink.

When it gave its shrill beep a short time after he groaned.

‘ _102.4_ ’

Because of _course_ it was.

As if he had really needed to be sick on top of everything else…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The third day into his illness Tim hit his breaking point.

He had not moved from the bed in what seemed like ages. His insides barked at him mercilessly, stomach violently protesting the lack of nourishment, yet at the same time flipping and churning at the very thought of having something in it. His ears rang from the constant throbbing in his head and the vertigo he experienced the few times he had dared try to stand was debilitating.

But despite it all he could take it no more.

He was in _trouble_. He was normally far stronger than this. But right now… he needed someone, he required outside care, but couldn’t risk a hospital, and he needed someone to tell him things would get better, that he would be okay, and he sure could not chance trying to go back to the manor.

But in his current state there was no way that he was going to be able to figure out Jason’s whereabouts, not without getting thrashed and ending up bleeding out in some alleyway, and even if he _was_ able to find him, there was no doubt in Tim’s mind that he would faint from sheer exhaustion before he would be able to get a word out explaining what was going on.

Perhaps it was his inability to think straight, to be rational at the current that had him pulling on his hoodie, and sloppily typing his shoes? All the same it could have desperateness that had him stumbling from the building onto the streets below towards Uptown and the Narrows…

Regardless, in the back of his mind he knew that he was nuts, that what he was doing was foolish… he just simply did not care.

He knew one person that might be willing to hear him out- perhaps even help him. Someone that knew the city almost as well as those involved with the bat, who was in close with the underworld of Gotham, and might even already know where the hood had last been seen…

And to him? It was worth a shot.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim sat curled in a ball atop the uppermost level of a rusted fire escape with his knees up to his chest as he surveyed the nightclub across the gangway. His lids were heavy as he watched the street, and he blinked back exhaustion and nausea as he focused on his breathing. He had been there since nightfall. It was foreign feeling being out in civilian attire hidden in the shadows. It had been years since he had last done it with such purpose. He would have spared a laugh at having come full circle but he was sure it would produce disastrous results.

It was cold, and while the thick fleece and hood kept some of the chill out, it was still inadequate, whether it was simply just that cold out on this very night or it was his current state of health was questionable…

After sitting so very still for hours he was cramping up, yet at the very same time fighting to stay conscious as sleep protested at the back of his mind, and he was seconds away from falling over sideways despite the booming base sounding from the building when his tired eyes finally locked onto his target.

Then quite suddenly, his nerves got the best of him… his voice caught in his throat and his heart hammered in his chest, because things could go so _very_ wrong.

And yet…

Things were already _bad_.

How much worse could it possibly get sans him actually dying?

He prayed that no one else was watching as he moved forward, scooting out from the shadows on his knees, before clutching the bars of the railing tightly and bracing himself.

“Harley!”

To his surprise the blonde nearly leapt out of her skin as she just barely cleared the street, dropping her purse as she stumbling backwards, landing on her rear in the middle of the side walk. Her pigtails bobbed as she yanked the bottom of her skirt back down her thighs and she quickly snatched the fallen bag up off the pavement before clutching it to her chest. She was tense as her eyes flitted about, looking for the source of the voice, and swallowing his dread he knocked on the iron bars with a fist alerting her to his location.

Her eyes locked on him, and although initially confused he quickly saw the realization hit, and in a rush she was scrambling to her feet and darting into the darkened walkway.

He swayed slightly, pressing his forehead to the cool metal as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and by the time his vision stopped swimming Harley was directly below him, staring up in anxious wonder.

He let out a relived, breathy laugh, and manage a weak smile.

“I-“

But she didn’t let him explain himself.

“Are you crazy Bird-boy!?” She snapped at him, folding her arms across her chest. “Look, as grateful as I am that you let one slide for me, and _didn’t_ let me fall and all, you can’t just show up outta nowhere like this, especially like _that_!” She hissed, hands flailing as she motioned at his limp form, he assumed in reference of his attire.

“ _‘m sorry_ …” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

The blonde only frowned and cocked a hip.

“Kid… if anyone caught ya talkin’ to me they’d be asking questions. Questions you’re not gonna want to answer, and dressed like that you can’t do any of your fancy acrobatics, or they’re going to _know_. You’re hangin’ around in the wrong sort of neighborhood, and that’s something you _ought_ to be well aware of, bein’ _you_ and all…” She muttered. “You were having a bad time the other day. I get that, been there, done that, and didn’t even get a lousy t-shirt to make up for it… but I saw your face once- and _maybe_ I could have forgotten that mug, pushed it to the back of my mind, but _now_? You’re perched up there all exposed and normal. How ‘m I ever gonna forget that?”

He met her gaze, opened his mouth to retort, and immediately regretted it as he swerved away, dry heaving into the corner. To his surprise, she was at his side within seconds with little noise accompanying her as she went, and she placed a hand on his should as he regained his composure. Quite honestly they never had given her much credit for her acrobatics. It was only then he wondered why.

But quite suddenly… it was like he flipped a switch.

She was crouched down before him, a look of genuine concern splayed across her face, and before he could try the talking thing again there was a cool hand against his forehead and he leaned into the touch. Harley cursed almost immediately and let out groan.

“No wonder… not a chance in hell your head’s screwed on straight with it bakin’. How long you been like this?”

“Since…since that night?”

She face palmed and let out a ragged sigh.

“Look kid, I’m supposed to be the villain here, and you’re not makin’ that easy for me! I’m okay, honest, not a scratch on me and the ankle swelling went away all of two days later. No need to stress yourself like this kiddo-“

“ _Tim_.” He corrected.

Her eyes bulged immediately, and she slapped a hand over his mouth in horror, a frantic look upon her face.

“Don’t tell me that!” She screeched, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna know your _name_! Gah, just… hush for a sec will ya?” She whined.

“Harley-“

“What are you even doing here? Hunting me down? _Why_? You can’t just… I don’t know, imprint on me, like some little bird- _no pun intended_ …” She huffed, a small blush spreading across her cheeks. “I ain’t no bat, farthest thing from it, so what could I possibly offer you?”

And to give him some credit, he did not fall forward into her lap when his vision began to swim.

“…your help?”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He was pretty sure that Harley must have half carried him to the shabby diner down the street, for he hardly recalled how he ended up in the plush booth, with the cracked and worn leather seats, and the woman watching him anxiously from across the table.

He let out a whine as the coffee placed before him by the waitress was promptly snatched out of his reach by the blonde and the water was pushed toward him instead. He sipped at it gingerly, putting his best effort forth to resist face planting the counter and stay aware of his surroundings, but the raging fever made it a difficult feat. Harley pressed a buttered roll into his hands sometime after the basket arrived and he ate it in small careful bits he tore off, hoping that his stomach allowed the intrusion, and the bread dulled the ache within.

She let him rest a bit, watched him eat as she chewed her lip, and kept an eye out for anyone out of the ordinary. Be she was anything but patient and after a time she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Look kid… what the heck could I possibly help you with? I’m not the picture perfect example of sanity, not going to kid myself there, and if you’re thinking I can help get you back up on your feet you’re mistaken. Can’t hardly help myself, ya know?” she sighed, resting her head in a hand.

He looked up from his snack with a weary gaze.

“No, that’s not… I mean… you _know_ people. You _hear_ things.” He murmured. “I need your help, to find someone. I-I tried. All dead ends. I had nowhere left to turn. Even hacking into surveillance feeds came up empty. He knows where they are, _all of them_ , somehow…”

The blonde rose a brow.

“Then what exactly makes you think that _I_ would know where to find this guy? When your own fancy gadgets aren’t comin’ up with nothin’?”

He groaned and pressed his face into the table top, earning yet another sigh from the woman, and ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair.

“Because… even though our- _my_ ends are coming up empty, you have a certain advantage. Thugs talk. You hear. And even if he’s keeping out of sight of where I know to look, chances are good that the dregs are still getting caught up with whatever he is doing at the present. He wouldn’t disappear completely. He can’t help himself. He’s still up to something, running rounds, calling in favors. And… _and_ ….” He trailed off, wrapping an arm around his stomach, and he drew in deep breaths hoping to get the acid in his stomach back under control.

Harley frowned, brow crinkling as he seemed to come to, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Who _exactly_ are you looking for? _Why_ are you trying to find him?” She pressed.

He couldn’t meet her gaze as he responded, only curl up on himself as he breathed.

“Looking for… _the Red Hood_. Need him. He-he’d understand. Wouldn’t make me go back. Would help… would _talk_ …”

And Harley only had a split second to act, to damn near fall out of the booth and lunge forward, before he was sliding sideways and nearly on the floor. Making matters worse, the waitress from earlier had seen Tim fall out cold and was already on the phone, frantically hailing an ambulance if she had to guess.

It was with great effort that she heaved the teen upright and pulled his arm up over her shoulder, suddenly incredibly grateful for her paranoia and choice of seating out of camera view, and before they could stick around and confirm whether or not the EMTs were in fact headed in their direction, she was pulling the hood up over his head and dragging him out the door.

How she managed to get his limp form away from the establishment on time, dragging dead weight through less than friendly alley ways, was totally beyond her. But as the sound of sirens stopped back well behind them she was suddenly glad that she had been working out and sadly relieved that the kid was not nearly as heavy as she knew he used to be.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bud and Lou were a hyperactive mess as she stumbled through the door with the unconscious teen, nipping at their heels as she kicked off her shoes, and lugged him toward the couch. She shooed them away once he was down, and she hoisted his legs up, carefully positioning them after she yanked his shoes off.

With a groan she rolled her shoulders, sore from traveling so far with the extra weight braced against her, and sighed as she made her way towards the medicine cabinet.

The kid was a mess… dehydrated, stressed, sleep deprived, and on his way to being malnourished, but first thing was first… she had to get his fever down. After that?

Well, she could hardly begin to imagine what the ex-Robin wanted with the Hood, especially with what she had heard about him, but if he thought the creep could help in some way… she would try her best to get him a lead.

She only hoped that she managed it before anyone else came knocking on her door.

Because be it any number of people, it would only mean bad news…


	9. Chapter 9

To Harley’s relief Tim stayed out cold throughout the rest of the night and much of the next day. It gave her time to adjust to his presence and fix him up a touch while she figured out a way to approach the situation in a non-life threatening way.

He needed sleep, lots of it, and even if the kid was pissed at her later for it she kept him lightly sedated to prevent him from waking randomly with all of her bustling about. The intravenous fluids gave him back some color and the ice packs she had packed around him had brought his temperature back down to manageable levels. She had never been _‘that kind of doctor’_ , but she still knew plenty of basics that had aided her over the years and they were certainly helping with this case immensely.

Still, having a sick ex-Boy Wonder on her hands was the least of her worries. Her primary concern lay in helping him with his troubles while at the same time she ensured that none of the wrong people discovered that she was helping him. While she herself could get away from such a situation unscathed she highly doubted the teen could in his current physical or mental state. At the very least the kid wasn’t coming and going so it was unlikely that anyone would catch onto his presence unless they had come knocking for other purposes. It was a small comfort. Granted she never did get many visitors, but it would of course be her luck to have it happen now.

She wasn’t the greatest of cooks. Far from it really. But all the same she whipped him up something edible and popped it in the microwave for safe keeping for when he awoke. The kid would likely find it odd that said microwave was plugged in two feet away from his face, sitting on the coffee table, and attached to a mess of extension cords… but she was sure he’d appreciate the sentiment all the same when he would barely have to move for food, if of course he ended up _able_ to keep it down.

See, she had that covered _too_ , and had moved the trash bin from across the room to beside the table.

With that she had left the house and started her hunt.

She set to work right away and managed to round up her crew- or at least, what was currently _left_ of it, and spent a good two hours drilling each of them individually for any info on the Red Hood any of them might have. Unfortunately, sans a couple of them having seen the man making rounds a couple nights after the warehouse gig, and one of the goons having had a chat with a runner that had had a less than pleasant conversation with him, there was little information to be had from them.

After making sure they kept quiet about her little inquiry, via threat of dismemberment and various other _colorful_ things, she had dismissed the lot and moved on. She hit the bars, clubs, and other hangouts next, making for a long night that wreaked havoc on her attention span and tested her patience. Every attempt at mingling and eavesdropping only resulted in a few scattered murmurs that gave her absolutely no solid leads. She wished she could have at them with her mallet, but thought better of it, knowing that if she ended up in Arkham Tim would end up in a worsened state with no one to tend to him.

Despite it only being the first night on the hunt she was still disappointed in the results.

The Hood was clearly adept at covering his tracks and just as skilled at staying in the shadows as the Bat himself was.

With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to the fact that she was getting nowhere for the night and she started on her way back home.

Half way there she had an epiphany.

-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Please Selina, open up wouldja?” Harley pled as the raven haired woman glared at her through the glass door of the balcony in disdain while she pawed at the handles. “I’ve got an emergency! Help a pal out Cat!” She pouted, jutting out her bottom lip.

Selina sighed and reluctantly unlatched the locks before opening one side, a tired unamused look on her face, and arms folded across her chest.

“I’m hardly in the mood for chaos tonight Harley, I’m beat…” And surely she looked it with the dark circles around her eyes, which sparked a twinge of guilt in the blonde.

“I’m sorry, but it really _is_ an emergency. _Honest_.” She gave an anxious grin and crossed an ‘X’ with a finger right over her heart.

“Sure it is…” She drawled, rolling her eyes as she cocked a hip and she leaned against the doorway. “Out with it then. I don’t have all night Harl.”

The blonde gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, I sorta need to know where the Red Hood is, so if you’ve got any leads- or _could_ get them, I could _really_ use one, stat.”

Selina frowned, and immediately stiffened, causing her to flinch. She could have perhaps worded that in a less cryptic manner judging by her suddenly enraged face.

“What on earth would _you_ want with _him_?” She huffed accusingly. “If you think I’d help that creep get anywhere near-“

Harley gaped briefly, until it clicked.

“No! No, definitely not. This has absolutely nothing to do with Mistah J! I… I haven’t even seen him lately… _honest_. He’s probably super busy… _maybe_.”

Selina felt a slight pang of guilt with the way the woman’s voice cracked, though she certainly had no fondness for the Joker in the slightest, and most definitely couldn’t understand the man’s hold on her.

“Then, _why?_ ”

“I-I’m just tryin’ ta help a _friend_ in need is all… they want to talk to him, and only him. I’ve already hit a ton of people and places tonight, but have come up with nothing even remotely solid. If I don’t find him I dunno what I’m gonna do Cat.”

At this Selina rose a brow.

“This doesn’t happen to have something to do with a lost _bird_ does it? One that a certain Bat mentioned had run away from home and pestered e about frantically the other night?”

She froze- smile faltering for a moment before giving a nervous laugh.

“Of course not- why would you even think-“

Selina cut her off with a chuckle and understanding nod.

“Don’t worry, not my business to tell anyone anything these day- _never really was_.” She sighed, leaning against the door frame. “I caught sight Hood a few nights ago near Sidel Street and Benz. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I see something. Best I can do for you. In the meantime, try not to get you or any _friends_ you might have killed.”

Harley beamed and dove forward, squeezing the woman tightly, before pecking her on the cheek giddily.

“Thanks Cat, you’re the greatest!”

She rolled her eyes and step back through the sliding door.

“Don’t let _Pam_ hear you say that.” She chuckled, and left Harley behind as she yanked the glass door shut.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harley was in a significantly better mood by the time she returned home, even with only minimal news on the Hood. The mood was further improved on when she walked through her front door and was greeted with a number of pleasant things.

Firstly, Tim had eaten- not _all_ of it, but enough to get something in his stomach, and the trash bin was empty so he had kept it all down.

Second, what was left of it her babies _hadn’t_ touched, and that was a miracle in itself.

But the kicker?

Lou was curled up on the couch atop the sleeping teen’s feet, and that was just precious. She cooed as she slid her phone out of her pocket and snapped a quick photo.

Harley sighed and placed a hand on his forehead, biting her lip as she judged the warmth- definitely still feverish but not nearly as bad as he had been upon arrival. Improvement was improvement no matter how little.

Tim groaned as she pulled away and she gave a soft smile as she brushed his bangs back aside.

“How ya doin’ kiddo?” She asked.

Tim only gave a slight mumble grumble in response before ultimately shifting to roll onto his side, spooking the hyena in the process, and pressed his face into the pillow without seemingly ever fully waking.

Harley sighed and shook her head sadly.

At the very least he was getting some much needed sleep, but it was still worrisome. She shrugged and slid down to the floor next to him, leaning her back up against the couch and grabbing the remote. Bud surfaced from the next room and came to join her, pressing his weight against her side as she turned the television on and the volume down. She gave a content sigh as she ran her nails through his bristly fur and threw on a random movie.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In the end she had fallen asleep propped up against the couch, Bud half in her lap, and her neck resting awkwardly against Tim’s knee.

She woke the next afternoon greatly regretting that decision, groaning as she attempted to work out the kinks in her neck and spine, and muttering as she made her coffee.

She was slow to start her day, partly due to how she had slept, but mostly due to stress. It wasn’t that she regretted helping the kid- no, it was mostly worry of being _caught_ with him. The idea of getting seen with him by any of the rogues and them recognizing him, or the Bat was terrifying in itself. Anything that would happen to him would surely be on her, and while she wasn’t too worried about anyone taking anything out on _her_ , at least to the point that she didn’t fear threats on her life, she hardly thought for a second that there wouldn’t be repercussions.

And god forbid her Puddin’ find him- she couldn’t even stomach the thought. Bird boy might as well be a piñata in his eyes… an example to make, and a way to ease the hurt of there being a new Bat in town. She hardly wanted to know how he was coping with the change.

She even suspected that the sudden loss was what made him run off and hide in the first place…

Harley shuddered and tried to push the thoughts away, throwing on a grin that didn’t meet her eyes. She hummed a random tune as she geared up and got ready for her oncoming night.

Before leaving the house she fed the pups and checked on Tim, received little more than a confused mumble, then left a note on the table in front of him with a bottle of water, crackers, and an apple.

With that she set out on night number two of her search.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In all reality, Harley had very few additional leads to check out. Various runners were her best bet but even they for the most part were either clueless or entirely too terrified of the man to speak of where they might have seen him around, and she couldn’t fault them for that. Uptown was a pretty scary place with the Hood policing it with deadly force, and it was apparent that he had the majority of the runners under his employ- and plenty had been made examples of over the past couple of years leaving them scared an obedient. Even with her street cred and associations she would get nowhere with them.

It was times like these that she wished Pam strayed farther than midtown’s central district. She was of no help so far north and would only complain if she tried to force the matter.

She patrolled the area at Sidel under Selina’s recommendation, but ultimately all she came away with was a deep chill courtesy of Gotham weather, and a frustrated headache. Past the usual trash roaming the street nothing was out of the ordinary, and there was no sign of the Red Hood any which way she travelled. He must have only been visiting the other night.

With a heavy sigh she finally decided to head home after several hours of nothing.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She felt like a failure as she stomped through the door, pausing only briefly to throw the giant femur bone Lou promptly jabbed into her legs, before ripping off her cowl and whipping it against the wall with a discouraged huff. She didn’t even care that Bud went after it and proceeded thereafter to bound through the house with it locked in his jaws.

On the bright side, a quick glance to her left let her know that Tim had surfaced at some point, for half the crackers were gone, the apple was nothing more than a stemmed core, and the water bottle lay empty on the floor beside the couch. The bathroom door had also been left open, and while she dreaded to see the state of it- door _normally_ shut tight to prevent the pups from drinking the toilet dry and obliterating the shower curtains, she was happy to know the teen had gotten up on his feet even if only briefly. Well, at least she _hoped_ he had been able to walk it and hadn’t hurt himself…

With a yawn she padded into the kitchen and began rummaging through the fridge, pulling out the milk, bagels, and cream cheese, and set them on the counter.

Then she froze.

She caught it out of the corner of her eye and beamed. Harley grinned widely and bolted towards the balcony doors and bounced when she confirmed it.

An _envelope_ was taped to the glass.

She flung the door open and snatched it, barely careful enough to not slam it shut as she dove back inside, and she practically threw herself into her recliner as she ripped it open.

Selina had given her _photos_.

A half dozen shots of the Red Hood entering and exiting through the window of a seemingly run down building, and an address written on the back of the last.

She could kiss her. It was perfect.

“Gosh, Selina… what’a pal!” She sighed.

Twenty minutes later, she was running a gloved hand through the teen’s hair and whispering to Tim that she’d see him later, then bolting out the door.

Once she knew where to look, finding the building wasn’t all too hard.

She settled in perched up on the fire escape balcony of a neighboring building up a few floors higher than the photos had shown the Hood sneaking in and out of so she’d have a good view and still be out of _his_.

In it for the long haul she had brought along some snacks- having left without ever eating her bagel, and she sat patiently on the iron platform staring, with a bag of chips on her left and a lollipop tucked into the corner of her mouth.

Unfortunately, like earlier in the night and the previous, she sat for several hours more with no sign of him. Either she had missed him for the night or this lead would turn out to be a dead end as well.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harley returned home dead on her feet and ready to pass out. She groaned as she kicked off her shoes, and despite already being beyond tired she hit the kitchen once more and microwaved a bowl of canned chicken and rice soup for Tim.

He was slow to wake, but a touch more coherent than he had been as of late, and she managed to get him to sit up and stay awake long enough to eat. She felt a surge of pride when he fed himself.

“I’m tryin’ kid, I really am.” She sighed, taking the bowl from him afterwards. “Better luck next time, hun…” and with that she had tucked him back into the cushions, before tossing the dishes in the sink and heading to her room.

She barely managed to strip before falling onto the covers out cold.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She spent the better part of the next day in bed with the pups, tossing and turning, occasionally staring up at the ceiling in thought.

When she finally did bring herself to pull it together and shower- dealing with the mess that Bud and Lou had made of the bathroom the ngh before first, she was already wide awake. Afterwards she went to check on Tim only to be pleasantly surprised when he was sitting up slightly and patting Lou’s head. She wouldn’t swear on it, but she thought she could see the ghost of a smile on his face as she approached.

“Well look whose back with the livin’!” she chirped, planting herself on the edge of the table. “See what good a whole hell of a lot of sleep can do?” Harley grinned.

“Mmm…” He seemed to agree. “Would- would you mind if I… well, took a _bath?_ ” He murmured.

“Of course!” She exclaimed, clapping. “That would probably be pretty soothing even. I’ve got sweatpants and a hoodie that might fit ya while your clothes go in the wash too. They’re my loungers- loose and nothin’ fancy.”

“That’ll be nice…” he sighed, and he put up little protest as she helped him get to his feet.

The trip to the bathroom however… well, she was no longer quite sure how well he’d done going to the bathroom on his own while she had been out, as he was anything but steady on his feet.

And as she helped him into the tub, pointedly trying to avert her eyes for the sake of decency while she aided him in sinking down into the bubbles, she couldn’t help but wince at just how thin he really was under his clothes, and the amount of scaring on his body from the years of crime fighting. But Tim seemed to relax the moment he hit the water and that was what really mattered.

In the meantime…

She hopped up onto the lid of the toilet and settled in, thinking nothing of sitting across from him while he soaked. She entertained herself by painting her nails and yammering away even though he hardly seemed to pay much attention, but she didn’t mind.

“Selina’s a doll, helpin’ me out a bit in findin’ your Hood. Didn’t tell her nothing, but she figured it out on her own- she’s smart ya know. Said she wouldn’t tell no one. I trust her on that.” She sighed contently. “She’s been down in the dumps lately. I-I think she _really_ misses the B-man, the _old_ one. They had their thing goin’ on- it wasn’t perfect, nothin’ ever is, but I think he meant a lot more to her than she realized. There’s a lot ya don’t notice about things until they change but that’s life for ya.”

She paused, looking over the completed first hand, before blowing on the nails gently.

“I’m not sure she knows what to do anymore to be honest. She’s been staying in a lot at night. Pam says she needs time- but I think she should get out, it’ll help- _I’d know_. Mistah J’s been missin’ too. Disappeared without a trace and left me behind- he does that sometimes. Keeping busy makes time go faster, helps you not pay attention. I’ve got Bud and Lou to keep me company though. Selina’s got the cats- but I mean, you know how _cats_ can be.” She nodded to herself, starting on the other hand. “Then again Pam has plants and seems mighty happy…” she trailed off with a laugh. “I really hope I find him for ya… gonna try again tonight. Not sure what ya need from him, or if he can help with what you’re going through, but I _hope_ he can. Don’t know much about him, to be honest…just that Mistah J gets really upset when anyone brings ‘em up, and the guy runs through uptown- especially crime alley and the like, patrolling the area which can make things hard on him and his plans. He don’t like that very much as you can imagine…”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After the bath, and one-sided conversation, Tim dried off and gratefully slipped into the clothes she had offered him. But rather than dropping him off back at the couch she had led him to the bedroom instead, offering up her bed now that he was feeling a touch better. She expected him to put up protest, but instead he had murmured his thanks, and before she was even done getting ready for the night he was out like a light once more.

This time she decided against her jester suit, thinking that it would perhaps be for the best if she did manage to find the Hood that she approach him more neutrally, and instead she donned warm civvies, and threw on a hooded trench coat so she could still remain mostly anonymous until she no longer needed to.

When she did finally make it to the building across from her target she chose a different floor this time- just to mix it up. This apartment wasn’t near that fire escape though, so instead she sat on the balcony of the master bedroom, having broken into the actual apartment where no one had thankfully been home, petting the home’s resident cat as she watched lazily. She entertained herself by chewing gum and popping bubbles obnoxiously.

It was boring work, and she had gotten there in the early evening, but she was hopeful that if she sat still long enough he would show.

Four hours later she had turned to playing laser dot with the cat with the one on her keyring, and it was just getting to the point where she was ready to give up- when she had a sudden break.

She caught movement on the side of the building across, and sure enough one Red Hood was making his way up the building’s fire escape, heading towards the very window in her photos.

“ _Ohmygod!_ ” She laughed, squirming on her perch.

It was when he went inside the building that the tension in the air dissipated and she leapt to her feet.

“Woo hoo!” She bounced, fist pumping, and she winced when the cat flailed and shot back inside with his fur standing on end. “Sorry pussycat!”

She apologized as she re-entered the building, and with much enthusiasm, she raced from the house, careful to lock the front door as securely as it had been when she arrived, and she dove across the street.

Then came the problem at hand…

Now that Hood was actually there, and inside the rickety old building, she was at a total loss for what to do _next_.

She had perhaps jumped into this with a significant lack of planning… not at all _her_ fault of course. She had been doubtful that the man would show in the first place, and quite frankly Tim had not at all been planned to begin with, and Selina had come through surprisingly _fast_.

So what does one do while they’re standing on the street trying to get the attention of someone on an upper floor- especially when they don’t want to corner them and force them to lash out violently?

She started throwing small rocks at the window in which he disappeared into.

A _solid_ plan she had figured.

Only… it resulted in no response at all, and with a growl she stomped her foot in frustration and crossed her arms as she tried to think of a plan B.

Harley never got that far.

Before she could even really focus her thoughts she was being wrenched backwards, and she was being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway with extreme force, a gloved hand muffling her shocked scream.

Clearly her efforts _had_ worked.


End file.
